


The Adventures of Elizabeth Swann

by TravellingTypewriter



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Female Protagonist, Feminist Themes, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, POV Female Character, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Slow Romance, Strong Female Characters, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravellingTypewriter/pseuds/TravellingTypewriter
Summary: The adventures of Elizabeth Swann, beginning immediately after AWE. I've always felt that Disney ruined her amazing character arc, so here I celebrate Lizzie at her finest: fierce Pirate King and independent woman born before her time. Ignores aspects of DMTNT (because, of course, Jack & Liz keep in touch!). J/E, W/E, but mostly just Liz living her best life. Rated mature for later chapters.
Relationships: Anamaria (Pirates of the Caribbean)/Original Female Character(s), Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth Swann
Comments: 38
Kudos: 74





	1. Honeymoon Island

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Disney own everything. Jack, Elizabeth, Will, and the entire POTC universe.
> 
> Written because I've always believed that Disney did the dirty on Elizabeth Swann. Having watched the movies as a teen, Elizabeth was the perfect strong female character for me to latch onto as influence in my own life. She breaks out of society, and does what she wants, propriety be damned. She's flawed and powerful and vulnerable. She's feminine, but can hold her own against any man. She's imperfect, and that why I loved her, as a character. I also strongly believed that Will is fine enough for a first love, but by the end of the films, they were too different - Sparrabeth all the way! I was so upset to see in DMTNT, they had stuffed her back into a corset, and I refuse to believe that Jack wouldn't have been a part of her life in some way - and Henry's life. That their paths wouldn't have crossed again over the twenty years between AWE and DMTNT. Nor do I accept that Elizabeth, after such a great character arch, would have settled down with her son, on land, dressed up in corsets again and waited for her husband. No. She ended AWE the Pirate King, with a ship of her own. She'd have gone off and had adventures, and been the badass Queen we know her to be, making the most of all life had to give her, while caring for Will's heart.
> 
> So this series celebrates that side of Elizabeth. Features some Willabeth, more Sparrabeth, but mostly just Elizabeth as King, Captain, mother and strong, independent woman, living her life by her own terms.
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Chapter One: Honeymoon Island**

With a flash of green, it was over. The honeymoon was over. Digging her feet deeper into the wet sand, Elizabeth stared out at the horizon, now empty, feeling the sea lap so enticingly around her ankles, anchoring her.

_What now?_

She was a wife and a widow, her husband lost to her, and yet she must remain faithful. For ten years, she must wait for him, and keep him in her heart. Can love last so long without so much as a look, a kiss? Perhaps she would have once believed it to be possible, during her younger, sillier days when life was mere romance, without substance or experience. But now?

Glancing to her left, there lay the chest, within which her husband's heart continued to beat its steady, impossible rhythm. Picking it up, she held it close, pressing her ear against the cool surface of the lid. _Thump, thump, thump._

Reason told her that this love can't last, that there was no marriage to salvage - he is dead, lost to the sea, and she is left a widow. They married in haste, after months of bitterness and discord between them. They married in the heat of battle. Would she have said yes, had they waited until the cannon fire ceased? Had they not been so convinced that death was coming for them, nipping at their heels. But then, of course, Will's fate was sealed, and she could be glad at least that he has someone with whom to keep his heart safe.

No, reason be damned, she had made a promise, and she must keep Will close, as close as he had been that day, when their love had burned, fierce and renewed, any past doubts cast aside. She had chosen him, and he her, and she _must_ hold onto that, for the sake of his soul.

They had talked little, lost to each other from the instant they set foot on this spit of land. He was in her heart now, by God, and if they had but one day as man and wife, they would make the most of each other, tasting each other, with clumsy touches and eager kisses, all to the steady chant of 'I love you, I love you, I love you'. Yes, William Turner reaffirmed his place in her heart that day, and she held onto that, gripping the chest tight so that his heartbeat matched her own.

Eventually, however, talk was necessary, and they had sat together, fingers interlaced, on the sand, listening for a moment to the gentle crashing of waves against the shore.

It was he who broke the silence.

"Elizabeth?"

She inclined her head towards him. "Hmm?"

"Where will you go, from here?"

Looking at him, she smiled. His eyes still bore that same doting concern which he had worn for all of these years, as though she were a delicate flower in need of protection, and yet there was a newfound wisdom there, a solemn acceptance of the curse laid upon him - upon them both. And an understanding; she had proven herself to more than capable of caring for herself. She didn't need his protection. She would be just fine.

"Before leaving the Pearl, I signalled for The Empress to wait for me. Assuming that my crew are loyal to me, they will be here just after sunset, and I intend on heading to Shipwreck Cove, to take up my place as King."

"Assuming..." Will said uneasily.

"I am their King, and have just led them to victory in a battle against an Armada. I think, surely, I have proved myself worthy as their Captain?"

"Surely."

"And, from there... Will," She paused, glancing at him uncertainly. "You know I can't give up the sea, and wait for you on land."

He smirked, running his free hand through the sand in thought, while the hand which intertwined with hers squeezed her fingers that little bit tighter. "I know." He paused, and she watched him, his head turned away from her, waiting for him to speak again. "Was it unkind of me, Elizabeth? To marry you. To condemn you to this."

Sighing, she reached out, stroking his head as she turned his chin towards her. "No." She spoke with such conviction, that she almost believed it, and he sighed, trusting her. "You weren't to know what fate had in store for you. None of us were to know. And you? Would you resent me? For having the freedom to roam, while you are condemned to ten years of ferrying the souls of the dead?"

His hands stroked her hair gently, and they looked at each other, each cupping the face of the other, with such bittersweet honesty in their eyes.

"Resent you? Never. Envy you... perhaps. I can't deny that, but I could never try and shackle you, or tell you that you must give up the life you love simply because fate has deprived me of mine. That wouldn't be fair of me, Elizabeth, and I know that even trying would only result in my losing you forever."

For a moment, they said nothing, until Elizabeth leapt up suddenly, with a gasp.

"I almost forgot!" She cried, hurrying off towards the abandoned coat which she had so hastily removed. Lifting it from the sand, she plucked a fold of parchment from the pocket, a stump of a quill and a pot of ink, its lid leaking and staining her fingers, and rushed back to her perplexed husband. "Come." She beckoned him towards a flat rock, spreading the parchment out. She cursed to herself as a smudge of ink left fingerprints along the edge of the page and took a moment to wipe her hands against her dress, the under-layer of her armour, which had been discarded across the sand.

"What is this?" Will asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Barbossa drew it up hastily while Gibbs readied the longboat. Look, he has signed as having performed the ceremony, and Pintel and Ragetti left their marks as witnesses, and there is my signature." Opening the ink bottle, with care, she dipped the quill, handing it to Will. "We are not legally wed unless you sign. Technically, our witnesses are supposed to be present when you sign too, but I was hardly going to bring them along on our honeymoon now, was I?" She was speaking too quickly, rushing to get the words out as a coil tightened in her belly.

Will looked at the quill in her hand, taking it hesitantly. "Elizabeth... if I sign this, would I be making you legally my wife, or my widow?" He glanced again at the chest which contained his heart.

"If you don't sign it, in the eyes of society, I am now nothing but your whore."

He winced at the word, but couldn't help but chuckle. "If you cared for society's rules, Elizabeth, you'd be long now married to Norrington, perhaps a mother, or on way to being one." He twirled the quill nervously.

"I'm not asking for you to sign for the sake of society." She said, her jaw protruding in that defiant way, eyes ablaze. "But to acknowledge what we have. Who would care for your heart, if not your wife?"

He shook his head, sadly. "And if you meet another, and wish to marry them instead?"

She smirked. "Then I would be your widow, and free to do so, in the eyes of _society_. But I would be condemning you to Jones' fate. I'll wait for you, Will. I must."

He placed the quill down, shaking his head.

"You must? Yes, I have condemned you too."

"Just because I must, doesn't mean that I would be doing so unwillingly. I _love_ you, Will."

"But I won't be there for you, Elizabeth." He glanced out towards the sun, which was beginning its descent towards the ocean waves. They had but a few hours left together. "Another might."

"Yes, another might." She confessed. "I may meet another, but I will be right here, in ten years, Will, waiting for you, and then the curse will be lifted. What happens between us beyond then... well, it would be futile discussing the 'what ifs' until, and only if, they come to pass."

He nodded again, folding the parchment. He held it out towards her. "If I sign that, and you declare yourself my widow and marry another, what would happen if in ten years' time, even if you do meet me here, and the curse is lifted, your long-dead first husband strolls back into the land of the living? Suddenly you're a bigamist. No. Keep it. Keep it with my heart. If we both still wish for my signature alongside yours in ten years, after this curse is lifted, I shall sign it, happily, and we can truly be man and wife."

Elizabeth sighed, taking the parchment, and tucking it into the folds of her dress, against her breast.

There was nothing more to be said, but to give themselves to each other, one last time.

And, with a final kiss and a flash of green, he was gone.

The chest still clutched tight against her, she turned to retrieve her coat; the temperature would drop quickly, now that the sun had dipped below the seas. She had to find her crew, her ship.

She couldn't help but notice the other ship missing from the horizon. How quickly had they weighed anchor and sailed away into the distance, away from her? She shuddered sadly. The Pearl had been such a part of her life for the past three years. She had fought there, lived there, married there, sounded her battle cries and rallied her army there. She had become her own. Not alone, of course. No, she had had help to escape the confines which society had laid upon her, the hours of practice with a sword amongst the dust of the blacksmith shop with Will, the wise tutoring of Barbossa during those fretful days as they sailed to Singapore, and a pair of dark, haunting eyes which seemed to see her truly for what she was. _Pirate_. For all his teasing and lies and mischief, no other had helped her more to realise her true self, perhaps, than-

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she glanced to the left, letting out a gasp.

"Jack!"

A gold-toothed grin greeted her as the pirate came into view from beyond the rocks, his hips swaying almost effeminately with that signature swagger. One hand tucked into his sash, the other gripping an open bottle of rum, he didn't react as she ran towards him, abandoning Will's chest atop the rocks.

Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him tight. Hesitating a moment, his fingers rippling with indecision, he tapped her on the arms, urging her to take a step back.

"None of that now, love, tempting though you are in that dress, if it can be called such a thing." He eyed her greedily. "Else that husband of yours will have me guts for garters... and I'd rather stay on the right side of the _new_ Captain of The Flying Dutchman, if I can help it."

"What has happened?" She asked, ignoring his teasing. "Why are you here? The Empress-?"

"Is awaiting her Captain just yonder, as instructed. You've got yourself a loyal crew, Captain Swann..." He held up his hands, realising his error, and with a smirk, corrected, "Captain _Turner_."

She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "Captain Turner is aboard the Dutchman. I would have myself be known as Captain Swann."

Jack raised a curious brow. "Honeymoon over so soon, darlin'?"

"Literally, yes." She turned again towards the empty horizon, hugging herself. "But Will and I are married. All but legally." She heard him take a step closer until they stood side by side. Taking the folded parchment from her dress, she handed it to him.

Jack read, taking a long swig of his rum as he did so.

"Will is far too good a man for the likes of me. Always was."

Jack smirked, handing her back the incomplete marriage certificate.

"He refused to sign." Elizabeth explained unnecessarily.

This surprised Jack. After years of chasing her, pining for her, the whelp had let her go, Elizabeth Swann, siren of the seas, as easily as that? And assumedly, after having... Perhaps there was hope for him as a pirate, yet.

"You were never one for settlin', love. You're a wild thing, as untameable as the sea. Perhaps he's finally realised that. You should be free to roam and do as you please, take what you want, go where you may, no husband there to stifle you."

"Actually, he refused to sign so that I may, if I wish, marry another."

Jack rolled his eyes. "How very noble of him. Tell me, love, I'm curious, at what point did he decide to allow you to remain a free woman? Before or after consummating your union?"

"Jack!" She snapped.

Jack whipped his head around with an uncomfortable twitch of his nose. It had always amazed him, how she could silence him with just a glance, or the bark of his name.

Her voice softer now, she looked down at her hands, sadness overwhelming her as she fought to control it. "He is still my husband, Jack. I love him and I _shall_ wait for him. I will be here ten years from now, and until then, I shall keep his heart safe. I can't condemn Will to Davy Jones' fate, after all he has done."

"Ten years is a long time, love."

She chewed on her lip, sinking down into the sand. Jack followed, handing her the rum bottle. She took a long, gratifying swig.

He couldn't help but watch her, the fading blue light as sunset dipped into the night making her skin glow, pearl-like.

"I am a selfish woman, Jack. Always have been." She handed the bottle back to him, doodling shapes in the sand with her finger.

"Pirate." Jack muttered.

"Yes. Is it unforgivable of me, that what I want most right now, is to try and find out all I can about the... details of what Will's curse entails? And... more specifically, what is required of me?"

"Since when have you come to _me_ for moral guidance?" He sniggered, leaning dangerously close. "I do recall a time, not so long ago, when you named my lack of a moral compass as one of the key differences between you and I."

"I was but a girl, then. Realising what I wanted, but not yet accepting what I am. Or what I am capable of."

"And now?"

She shook her head sadly.

"As you said, ten years is a long time, Jack."

"Aye, 'tis, love, 'tis. And you well know my thoughts on your moral predicament. Not that you've ever needed my permission to do anything you set your mind to, Lizzie, love."

She pursed her lips, something suddenly occurring to her. "You never did explain why you've come ashore. And where is your ship? Oh!" She gripped his forearm. "Barbossa?"

"The Pearl is anchored alongside your Empress, under the careful watch of one Mr. Gibbs. But I'm touched at your concern, love... or offended that you would so easily assume that that stinking codpiece could make off with me ship _again_. Like I wouldn't learn from prior mistakes. Barbossa is currently in the brig, it being the only place I can trust him to keep out of me way, and I'll be promptly dropping him off at Tortuga, first chance. As for why I am here, a handful of me crew are refilling our supply of drinking water as we speak. This is the only spot where we can do so for miles around, though it would have been an easier task during daylight, but tell the truth, none of us much fancied facing the wrath incurred from interrupting our Pirate King and the Captain of the Dutchman during such... passionate moments." He smiled knowingly.

Her eyes widened in sudden alarm. "You haven't been... lingering, have you?"

"Me, love?" He cried in mock indignation. "Many things I may be, but a peeping Tom, I am not! No, we kept our distance until the tell-tale flash of green." He waved vaguely towards the horizon. "And, truth be told, there is another reason why I in particular was so keen to come ashore." He leaned towards her, eyes burning, reading her so perfectly, and she found herself unable to look at him. "Are you alright, love?"

He spoke so softly, so unexpectedly, that words broke her, like taking an axe to a locked door, and a torrent swept through, uncontrollable, sobs wracking through her as she couldn't hold it in anymore. Too much had happened. Will, James, her father. Jack. Silently, he pulled her into his arms, for once, nothing suggestive in his actions.

"It's alright, love." He whispered through her hair. "Let it out. You'll be all the stronger for it."

She sobbed, clinging to him, for what felt like hours, until her throat was hoarse and sore, her eyes swollen almost shut. Jack's shirt was drenched with her tears, and yet, despite typically being a man uncomfortable with the emotions of women, he didn't say a word, didn't urge her to stop, or complain that they each had a crew they needed to return to. Nothing else mattered but making sure that she was alright, and that all of her pain was spent through her tears.

At last, she rubbed her face against the hem of her dress, leaning heavily against Jack's shoulder, his arm curled around her.

"Truly is a lovely frock you've got on, there, Lizzie." He teased, hoping to lighten her mood, now that she seemed to have finally run out of tears. "How can any man resist?"

"Mr. Sparrow," Elizabeth replied in mock indignation, a brief return to her haughtiest of accents, "I don't think I've had _nearly_ enough rum to allow such talk."

Sighing, he looked towards the horizon, the night sky by now dark enough that it was difficult to define sky from sea. "I know _exactly_ what you mean, love."

"I should thank you, Jack. You gave up your chance of immortality to save Will. Once again proving yourself to be a _good man_."

He smirked. "As it happens love, there's more than one way to gain immortal life." Shuffling slightly away from her, Elizabeth sat up straight, watching curiously as he turned his dark eyes towards her. "Have you heard of the fountain of youth?"

She rolls her eyes. "Another pirate legend?"

"Or so I thought, all these years, love, yes." Raising a finger pointedly, he reached to his side, pulling from his sash a rolled chart. Laying it out on the sand, he beckoned for Elizabeth to look closer. "But I had to keep myself occupied somehow while waiting for you and dear William to finish..." He waved dismissively towards the cave in the rocks. "Canoodling and the likes, and look what I found, amongst Barbossa's things, in me own cabin?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Funny coincidence."

"Isn't it just? Hector must have come across these in Singapore, and I'd bet anything this is his next heading... well, he'll have to find his own ship. And his own charts." He rolled up the charts quickly, hugging them possessively to himself with a pout.

"So that's your next great venture, Captain Sparrow? The Fountain of Youth?"

He nodded sagely. "And yours is to find Calypso and have her clarify a few of the finer points of the terms of your mar-i-age."

Elizabeth winced. "Any chance you know where best to find her?"

"Now that she's free of her human bonds, no idea, love. But, if anyone is going to find her, it'll be you. You're determined enough. And you've the next ten years to do so. Unless, of course, you'd rather join me on my quest." He patted the charts, standing with a slightly drunken sway.

"I think mine has more urgency." She said, retrieving her coat and belt, and putting it on, suddenly noticing that her flesh was raised with goosebumps from the chill night air. "And besides," He sidled close to him, bringing her lips close to his ear. "I'm younger than you, Jack. I can more afford to wait." She leant back, smiling as he winced. "But let me know if you find it. Perhaps I might make a trip there myself, one day."

"And you call yourself a pirate."

"I believe a wise man once said that not all treasure is silver and gold, Jack."

"Or life-giving liquid, apparently."

"Indeed." Picking up the chest containing her husband's heart, she checked that her marriage certificate was still safe within her dress, before marching towards the rocks. Having cried away her sorrows, she was ready to face her crew. "Come, come, Jack. Our ships await."

"Aye, that they do." He smirked, tucking his charts back into his sash as he swaggered after her, his Pirate King.


	2. Return to Shipwreck Cove

**Chapter Two: Return to Shipwreck Cove**

The night sky still held the grey glow of dusk as The Empress glided through the mouth of Shipwreck Cove, and Elizabeth was glad for it. Another hour upon that island, and they would have been gliding in pitch darkness, almost certain to pierce the hull and wreck themselves against the rocks. What an entrance that would have been for a Pirate King, returning from the triumph of battle.

There was a reverence to Shipwreck Cove. It demanded respect from visitors and inhabitants alike, and Elizabeth found herself automatically holding herself erect, as though she were still a governor's daughter, attending balls and hosting dinner parties. But, there was more to her now. She was a pirate. Furthermore, she was a King. A King who had led her people to battle, against an armada, no less, and to victory. This was her palace, her Kingdom. What was her father's Manor House in Port Royal, to all of this? Sure, her people were pirates, a fickle, selfish bunch. She would have to keep on her toes, and work hard to retain their respect, but tonight, for now, she felt she could bask in her triumph.

Nevertheless, reverence or not, Shipwreck Cove was still a pirate town, complete with brothels and alehouses and fistfights on every corner, and so she released her men, granting them three days of debauchery and whatever else such men might get up to when on land. She had things to attend to, after all. And her crew had been forced to sit and wait during the afterglow of battle, while she had enjoyed her day-long honeymoon with Will. Every other ship of the battle had no doubt immediately headed to the cove, or Tortuga, in search of celebration, and would by now have had a head start of several hours, and several gallons of rum. Keep the crew happy. Let them have their fun.

Of course, hers was not the only ship that had waited, rather than diving straight into the celebrations. The Pearl had waited for her too. Jack had waited, just to make sure that she was alright, before they parted ways, each heading on their own adventures.

Making her way through the winding streets of the town, a hodgepodge of mismatching houses, most of which seemed to be made from driftwood and, appropriately, shipwrecks, she headed towards the top of the mound, towards the largest, and most prominent, wreck; the great meeting hall of the town, where she had been named as King just the previous day.

God, so much had happened in just a single day. She had been voted King of the Brethren Court. She had avenged her father's death, sending Cutler Beckett to the depths. Beckett had died at sea, and so Will would be responsible for seeing him through to the other side. Will, her husband, at last. If he had any loyalty to her, he would be sure to see that Beckett suffered during the journey. And of course, he was loyal to her. He had always remained loyal. Her husband. Married in the heat of battle, their marriage consummated on a tiny spit of land. He had died at the hand of Davy Jones, and been saved by Captain Jack Sparrow. No matter how hard her tried to prove otherwise, Jack had once again shown that, pirate or not, he was a good man, and that side couldn't help but emerge just when they needed him, time and time again.

As she reached the half-buried hull of the great meeting hall, she smiled to see that the sloppily carved doorway still glowed bright with candlelight, and the delicate tune of guitar music sung out into the night. Ducking her head low so as to avoid a beam, she stepped inside.

The cock of a pistol greeted her.

"It's only me. Swann." She said, holding up her hands defensively as she stared down the barrel of Teague's pistol.

With a wry smirk, oh, so like his son's, the wizened pirate uncocked his gun, tucking it back into his sash, returning to his seat, guitar in hand, and resumed his dainty tune. "I was beginnin' t' wonder where you'd got to."

"I had matters to attend to." She said, placing the chest containing Will's heart down upon the table.

Teague leaned forwards, eying it carefully. "I reckon you 'ave a tale t' tell, lass." Placing his guitar down, he stood, disappearing into the darkened corner, from which Elizabeth heard the pop of a cork, followed by a second. He returned moments later, an open rum bottle in each hand. She took one gratefully.

"I believe I do."

She proceeded to tell him the tale of the battle, the maelstrom, her wedding, and Will's fatal injury. Speaking with his father, she took care to include details of Jack's part in the battle, or that which she had witnessed, at least: the way he had swung by a rope onto the mast, towering above the maelstrom as he fought face-to-face with Davy Jones; his saving her from the deck of The Dutchman with his makeshift parachute; his having been the only one to have realised that the cursed ship would surface, presenting them with their new, vital ally; her husband, William Turner.

"Jack always seems to be one step ahead of everyone else." She smiled.

"Aye, 'e gets that from 'is mother."

"Jack saved him. Will." She said, staring into the fire. It was funny, how the telling of the tale seemed to exhaust her more than the battle itself. She had been riding on a wave of adrenaline, all by now spent. Her body ached. She longed for a bath, and sleep, but didn't dare ask to retire for the night. "He could so easily have turned away, taken what he wanted, without so much as a backward glance." Taking an anxious sip from the bottle, she added, sadly, "Lord knows, it would have been no less than I deserved, to watch Will die. Not that Will would ever have deserved such a fate, of course. My husband is a good man. As is your son."

Teague studied her for a moment, picking again at the strings of his beloved guitar. "Tell me," He began steadily, his crooning voice easing her out of her dark thoughts. "What could you 'ave possibly done to deserve such a punishment, in me boy's eyes? I've only ever known Jackie be truly vengeful t'wards one person, an' that was when 'e carried that damned pistol around for nigh ten years, swearin' not t' rest until 'e'd put a bullet in Barbossa's 'eart, for stealin' 'is Pearl."

Elizabeth nodded. "He did, as well. I was there."

"So, tell me, what could you 'ave done t' Jackie, worse than that?"

She braced herself, unsure as to how Teague would respond. He was so unreadable, just as Jack could be, but she now didn't have the advantage of a few years of peeling back the layers to witness the man inside.

"I sent him to the depths. I chained him to the mast of the Pearl, and sent them both to the locker." She closed her eyes, tears gliding down her cheeks as she relived her guilt. "Jack was eaten alive by the kraken, and it was entirely my doing."

Teague's brow furrowed. Elizabeth Swann had proven herself as a pirate, and a King, and yet, he would never have suspected her of being capable of something like that. "You sent _my_ _boy_ t' the locker?"

"So many of the crew had already been lost in trying to protect him, and the Pearl, and there was a moment... we were bracing ourselves for another attack. We knew that the kraken was coming for us all, and I looked out over the rail, and there he was, sailing away in the longboat. Jack." She spat his name, suddenly angry, at him, at herself, at Teague for the strange, almost pitying look he was giving her as she confessed her greatest sin to him. To the father of the man whom she had murdered. "Jack was just sailing away. He is a brave man, but he is also a coward, and in that moment, he let his worst side get the better of him."

She paused to take another swig of the bottle, Teague saying nothing, his guitar stilled. He simply stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"But he came back. He came back for us. And the more I think back, the more convinced I am that he fully intended to go down with his ship that day. He told us, his remaining crew, to ready the longboat, but I'm sure he wasn't going to go with us..." Burying her face in her hands, she gave over to another wave of frustration; a dry sob, too full of rage to release tears. She had cried enough on the beach, just hours earlier, buried in the arms of none other than Jack. "But I chained him to the mast anyway. I didn't trust him then, in that moment, to do the right thing. And so I tricked him, he who could never be tricked, and left him there, and he and the Pearl were dragged to the depths. So, of course, he had every reason to resent me, and to have acted selfishly, to have stabbed the heart himself and allow me to watch my husband to die before my eyes."

Standing, Teague grabbed another two bottles of rum, handing one to Elizabeth.

"You think that equals Barbossa's mutiny?"

"I think it by far exceeds it. Barbossa may have stolen Jack's ship and left him to die, but I killed him, and sent him to the place he most feared."

Teague shook his head. "At least you sent 'is Pearl with 'im. See, you're misunderstandin' me son. Do what you wish to 'im, and 'e'll forgive you for it. 'E don't think high enough of 'imself to believe 'e might deserve better, despite all that bravado he bandies about. 'E's nothing but a pirate, after all, in 'is eyes. But separate 'im from that which 'e loves most; 'is ship, and 'e'll tear you limb from limb. No, love, 'e'll 'ave forgave you soon enough. Besides, why would 'e 'ave voted you as 'is King, unless 'e held nothing but admiration for you?"

She scoffed. "He voted for me because I was the only person in the room who wanted the same thing as him; to fight."

"True, that were no doubt a part of it. But I know me boy, and I saw the look in 'is eye." Teague narrowed his eyes, watching the colour rise in Elizabeth's cheeks. "You've left your mark, that's for sure. And I'm curious about something else, Cap'ain Swann. I can't 'elp but notice that, for a newly married woman, you've been talking an awful lot about me son, and 'ardly at all about your dear 'usband."

Elizabeth jumped to her feet, pursing her lips and jutting her chin defiantly. "I thought only that you might wish to hear more of his part in the battle, than my own. And you haven't met my husband. Why would I speak of him to you?"

"A trivial thing like that doesn't usually stop a woman from 'er gushin', when she's in love."

She rolled her eyes. Father and son were infuriatingly alike.

"It's getting late, Captain Teague. Might there by any chance be a free berth for the night, or shall I return to my ship?" Her voice had returned to that telltale haughtiness, a sign of her annoyance.

With a chuckle, Teague stood.

"Third on the left. Funny enough, that were Jackie's room, when he were a lad. Ain't been used hardly at all since 'e left, but for when 'e's found 'imself back 'ere, once or twice. So it might be a tad dusty. 'ardly fit for a King, but it'll do for a night or two."

"Is there no other room besides his?"

"None, lass." From the twinkle in his eye, she didn't believe him but was too exhausted to argue.

Taking his hands, she smiled. "Thank you, Captain Teague. And... I am truly sorry, for what I did to your son."

"No doubt it was no less than 'e deserved, lass!" He teased. "Besides, 'e's 'ere now, 'live and well, and as for the tale of 'ow 'e came to return to the land of the livin', that can be another story, for tomorro'?"

"Oh, it's a tale, for sure!" She smirked.

Bidding him goodnight, she retired to her room - Jack's room.

It was small and bare, with a bed which she could tell from a glance creaked terribly. A chest of drawers, empty. A chair with a woven seat stood against the wall. A small table sat in the corner, an old pot of ink, but no papers, no quill. An inch-thick layer of dust covered everything, as Teague had warned. No one had entered this room for quite some time. She could find nothing personal. Nothing which could tell her about Jack, from when he was simply Jackie. Jackie Teague. The boy before the legend. A pang of disappointment gripped her stomach. She had hoped to know him better. Something of his childhood which he would never have told her himself.

Nevertheless, the room smelled of him. As though he had just left the room. Something spiced, a vague hint of sandalwood, and... sweat. Quite overpoweringly of sweat, in fact, considering he hadn't set foot in the room for Lord knows how long. And there was something else... something...

Elizabeth moved towards the bed, the bedding seeming to be the source of the smell, as, where else could his scent be coming from? She pulled back the covers gingerly, and gasped, leaping back. Blood. Dark, old, blackened blood. With a brave sweep, she pulled away the thin blankets entirely. The bed was soaked through. Or had been, some time ago.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Her voice broke. She couldn't take her eyes off the blood, wondering whose it was, and hoping to God that it wasn't Jack's.

The door inched open with a creak, and when she turned, she saw a little man, grey and slightly bowed, backing into the room, carrying a stack of linens in his arms as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

"'ere y'are, yer Kingly-ness." His voice was smooth and grandfatherly, and as he turned, kind blue eyes caught her worried gaze, following it to the bed. The man shook his head sadly. "Aye, t'was a bad time, that."

"What happened here?"

The man placed the bedding down on the wicker chair, taking a moment first to wipe away the best of the dust with a rather soiled handkerchief.

"I've been 'ere since Jackie were a wee lad." He explained, stripping the bloodstained bedding away as he did so. "I was born int' piratin', but truth be told, never been much good a' sea. Much prefer land, so I found myself 'ere, amongst me own, withou' 'avin' t' do much wot pirates be doin'. The lad weren' like tha', though. It surprised no one when 'e ran off t' the sea the momen' 'e turned four'een, withou' so much as a 'bye, pops' to ol' Teague. 'E'd come back now and then, though... always sportin' an injury which needed seein' t'."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. So it was Jack's blood.

"Aye, Miss." The man said, seeing her worry. "There were one particular night... nigh ten years ago or so, now. The boy came stumblin' back, 'avin' sailed 'ere in a little scrap of a boat, with a man named Gibbs. 'Is only crew a' the time, though if you'd seen this boat of 'is, 'e were in no need of a crew. It were small enough to be manned alone. No, 'e'd lost 'is ship, the Pearl, quite recently, in fact, and was still cut up about it. Loves that ship like a mistress, 'e does. So, Gibbs practically carried 'im up 'ere, up the hill, screamin' the whole way for a doc'or. Obviously, place like this, we 'ave one, an' we give 'm enough business to keep 'im 'ere. Doc'or Grove, is 'is name. 'E saw to the lad. 'E'd been shot, twice." The man patted his chest, just over his heart. "T'was a near miss. A few inches further south an'... Well, Teague were furious with 'im. The lad 'ad 'ad a pistol, after all, but 'e'd refused to use it. 'That bullet weren' mean' fer 'im, Dad', 'e kept sayin'. Never seen old Teague so mad, I ain'." Taking the straw mattress, which was also stained straight through, he carried it out into the hallway, returning moments later with a replacement. "This were pillaged just a week ago from a fine Spanish galleon. Should be more fittin' for a King." It was too large for the small bed frame, hanging limply onto the floor, but Elizabeth was grateful all the same.

"I've seen Jack's scars." Elizabeth confessed. "How on Earth did he survive?"

The man glanced towards the skies. "Miracle, I reckon. That lad's seen 'is fair share. Someone's smilin' down at 'im, scoundrel though 'e is. 'E must 'ave charmed an angel in a prior life, I reckon. Nah, 'e pulled through by the skin of 'is teeth. I s'pose no one thought to change the beddin'. 'e only ever comes by with some injury or other, when this is the closest friendly bit of land with a doc'or. Whatever 'e lies on would only get soiled again anyway." He busied himself, tucking fine sheets - no doubt taken also from a fine galleon - as best he could under the oversized mattress, and fluffing a fresh goose pillow.

"And that was the last time? That Jack was here?"

"Aye." He brushed his hands together as he stood back to admire his work. "Though..." His face froze, and he half-turned, smiling at Elizabeth with a glint in his cornflower-blue eyes. "Now I come to think of it, there were one other time since. Quite recen'ly, in fact. Couple years back. 'E'd just gotten 'is Pearl back, I believe, an' it were once again ol' Gibbs who brought Jack 'ere, the lad staggerin' an' shoutin' that 'e didn' need no doc'or, 'e just needed 'is Pearl, but Gibbs knew best, as always."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. That must have happened since they had met, after she had watched him from the battlements of Port Royal, sailing into the distance. "What happened?"

"Fever. 'E'd caught summit nasty from some tribe, an' it were burnin' through him. Delirious, 'e were. Rantin' an' ravin' one minute, weepin' into the pillow, the next." He was eying Elizabeth curiously now, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably. "After all 'e'd survived before, no one doubted for a moment that 'e wouldn't pull through. A legend like 'e's carved out for 'imself, 'e could 'ardly go down to a fever, now, could 'e? But it were a nasty sickness, all the same. I remember one evenin', the night before the fever broke, I came in carryin' a tray of broth, to try an' get summit into 'im, an' there were no one else there at the time but the doc'or. The lad were sleepin', so it seemed, but 'e were mutterin' t' 'imself, nonsense, as always, an' neither the doc'or nor I paid it much mind, until..." He stepped closer to Elizabeth now, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. "'E started speakin' a name."

A coil tightened in Elizabeth's gut. "A name?"

"Aye. Name of a woman. Chantin' it, quiet, like, under 'is breath. Now, it caught my attention because I know the lad not to be the settlin' sort. 'E's 'ad 'is flirtations, sure, but no one 'as ever truly caught 'is eye, to my knowledge. The doc'or noticed too, an' asked me if I recognised the name. I said I didn'. 'E stopped as soon as 'e started, an' 'e woke the next mornin', past the worst of it."

Elizabeth licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Obviously Jack had had his fair share of women, but to think that one would leave her mark enough for him to speak her name during his delusions. But of course, her curiosity was too great.

"What was the name?"

The man smirked. "Lizabeth."

Her face burned, and for a moment she lost herself, her mouth gaping with shock. He had spoken her name. They had parted ways, and yet he had chanted her name, calling for her, perhaps dreaming of her under the heavy sleep of fever. What could that mean, besides...?

Pulling her lips into a pout of indignation, she stepped back sharply. "Common enough name. No doubt the whorehouses of Tortuga are teaming with Elizabeths and Lizzys and Elizas and... I'd thank you not to look at me that way." She snapped at his knowing gaze. "And to keep any gossiping thoughts to yourself."

The man mimicked drawing a line across his lips in an oath of silence. "Believe me, Miss, with all that goes on 'ere, that would be one of the more mundane tidbits, anyway."

Still not convinced, she asked warily. "What is your name?"

"Perkins, Miss." He didn't bow, as the gentlemen of Port Royal would have. This was the Kingdom of Pirates, after all. "Pleasure's all mine."

She nodded her head curtly. "Thank you for replacing the bed. I think... I shall sleep now."

The bid him goodnight, locking the door behind him.

Sitting heavily onto the bed, the mattress dipping dangerously off the side of the bed-frame, she thought about all she had learnt that night. She imagined Jack, in this very room, as a young boy desperate to follow the call of the sea, until the urge had been too strong to resist any longer. She imagined him on this bed, writhing in agony while a doctor pulled the bullets from his chest. So much blood had been lost. How on earth had he survived? She imagined him bathed in sweat, sleeping in the bloodstains of his last visit, chanting for her, calling for her. She imagined herself, water bowl in hand, dabbing with a cloth at his brow, soothing him. Clinging to his hand as the doctor performed his crude surgery on his wounds. Stroking his hair as the wounds were cleaned with precious rum, and cauterised with red hot metal. She imagined them both, in this bed, whispering to each other...

_Oh, you hussy._ Her husband not but a few hours gone, and already she was picturing herself with another man. And not just any man. _That_ man.

God, ten years was a long time, indeed. Her body had been awakened to sensual realities of womanhood, and she knew that she couldn't wait ten years. But as for _him_... no, she'd have to steer clear of him. Jack was as much a danger to her heart as to her body. He would worm his way into her heart, and stay there. And she must protect Will's heart, above all else. Protect it within her own.

But as for physical pleasure... she resolved again to find a way of communicating with Calypso. After all, all men took lovers, why not a Pirate King?

Removing her heavily armoured coat and belt, she slipped beneath the covers in her black dress, placing her effects on the ground, within easy reach. Glancing again to check the lock of the door, her hand skimmed over her thighs, her fingers travelling to that secret part of her. A part of her still sore from her hasty honeymoon. Flashes of images raced through her mind as she touched herself. A pair of dark, kind eyes. Strong, calloused hands on her bare waist. Her fingers tracing over a scar on a man's chest. Soft, greedy lips tasting her own. A wry smirk. A glint of gold.

Tipping herself into ecstasy, she let the night take her, and let her exhaustion claim her.


	3. Talks with Teague

**Chapter Three: Talks with Teague**

There was a stillness in the air, as though all sound had been sucked from the world. Like the _air_ itself had been sucked from the world. There was no need to breathe, to think. The sea rocked, without a breeze. And she swayed, but whether she was floating, or flying, she couldn't tell.

Alone. Quite alone, upon the deck of The Empress. Or perhaps it was The Pearl? Impossible to tell. The two ships merged into one, all blurred lines and hazy edges. Like looking at the world through the bottom of a rum bottle. Placing her hands flat against the rail, she steadied herself, looking out towards a calm, dark sea. The sea was black as night, and yet the sky glowed with all the colours of the most unnatural sunset.

Boats. There were boats coming. Boats without oars. She had seen this before, somewhere. People. People in the boats. And she knew them. She recognised every face. There he was, her father, leading the fleet, his silent, blank-eyed gaze staring into the distance. Beside him, in a boat of her own, her mother, his wife. Elizabeth had never known her mother, her death having come so soon after her daughter's birth, but she had seen her portrait in her father's study, and as she looked at her now, she had the same haziness of an oil painting and looked more like Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth, only with chestnut hair, a mane of curls. She wore the same scoop-necked gown as in her engagement portrait. Powder blue, heavily trimmed with lace. Just the kind of gown that a silly, eighteen-year-old girl would have chosen for her first, and only portrait as a soon-to-be-married woman.

And there were others. James Norrington, in all his finery. Commodore, rather than Admiral. Her Aunt Elizabeth, whom she had been named after. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. Georgina, her childhood friend, lost within a day to fever. Nicholas, the gardener's boy, who soon followed. They used to climb trees together. Her nanny, Miss Grisham. Her maid, Marie. Two dozen boats in all, sailing past the hull of the hybrid ship. All those she had lost. But she knew they were in safe hands. Her husband would ferry them to the other side. Whatever may lay there. After all that she had seen and done, she had no idea where to lay her faith, now, but in life itself.

A final boat caught her eye, dawdling behind the rest by several feet. Like the others, it carried a loan passenger, staring blankly ahead. She leaned further over the rail to see. Something was wrong.

"No..." Her voice caught in her throat, and suddenly she was running, running along the deck, to get in line with the boat. It was moving slower than the rest, falling further and further behind.

"Jack!" She called.

The sound of her voice roused him from his sleep-like state, and he snapped his head towards her, his brow creasing as he sought her face.

"Lizzie!" He muttered in response, his voice foggy, as though he hadn't used it in days.

"Come aboard, Jack!"

He stared at her, perplexed.

"You're not dead. You can't be."

Again, no response. His gaze settled and... oh, she had seen that look before. That knowing, penetrating gaze. He had looked at her just that way before. As she had approached him upon the deck of the Pearl.

_You came back._ _I always knew you were a good man._

And he had looked at her, and waited. As though he had known just what fate she had planned for him, and accepted it. He had known her, his gaze seeing through to her black heart. A heart as black as his own. Peas in a pod. What else had he seen in her that day?

"Jack!" She tried again, gazing around for a rope, but the deck was bare. Not even a dingy, else she'd have rowed out to meet him.

"'Lizabeth." His voice said, commanding her to turn towards him. "Lizzie."

"Yes?"

"It would never have worked between us, darlin'."

Her lips twitched in a smile.

"Oh, but it would have, Jack."

"Elizabeth."

She turned. Will was standing upon the deck, his face barnacled, a starfish near his left temple, its flesh merged with his own.

"Will." She gasped, taking a step closer, reaching for him, but he stepped back, away from her.

"I think you should go to your cabin, Elizabeth. I will see them on."

"There's been a mistake. Jack-"

"I will see them on, Elizabeth. _Go_."

With a last glance at Jack, those dark eyes burning into her, she turned, following the deck to her cabin, feeling her husband's gaze, following her, making sure that she obeyed.

Opening the door, she stepped inside.

"No."

It was her cabin. But also her bedroom. The bedroom in her father's house. The bedroom in which she had grown. Her dolls lined the wall below the window. A pile of adventure books on her bedside table. The comb which had been her mother's upon the dressing table. All was just as she had left it, that final night in Port Royal, with no idea that she would never return. It had been her wedding day - or ought to have been.

Turning on her heels, the door closed with a slam, followed by the click of a lock.

"Will!" She screamed, throwing herself against the door. "Jack! Let me out!"

Running to the window, she pulled at the latch, but it wouldn't move. The glass was so fogged that she couldn't see outside. She couldn't see the sea, or Jack, or Will, or her father... she couldn't see anything.

"Let me out!" She cried, shrieking until her voice broke. "Let me out!"

* * *

Elizabeth bolted upright, her heart pounding, her body drenched in sweat. Shaking, she lay for a moment, willing her limbs to still, for her heart to calm itself, before she staggered to her feet in search of water. There was no water basin. Of course not. This was Jack's room, after all. Not even so much as a bottle of rum. Also not so surprising. Jack wouldn't catch sight of a bottle of rum without draining it dry. Pulling on her coat, effects and boots, she stepped out into the cool air of the corridor.

It wasn't yet sunrise, the light blue and gripping her tight. All was silent. The whole world was sleeping, and she envied them. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she followed the path back to the meeting room, where she had confessed her sins with Teague just hours earlier. Was it this confession which had triggered her dream? This sudden reopening of old emotional wounds? She wondered now exactly what had happened to Jack between his being devoured by the kraken, and she and the crew finding him upon that barren beach in the locker. Had he been plucked by Davy Jones from the little boat which was intended to ferry him to the other side? What journey had he had to undertake to reach the locker? And, worst of all, what exactly had happened to him there?

Suddenly, her guilt was as raw as it had been in that dank corner of Tia Dalma's cabin.

Finding her way to the meeting room, she grabbed two bottles of rum from Teague's cabinet in the corner of the room. She could always replace them tomorrow, if he was offended (quite possibly, if he were as fond of his drink as his son).

Pulling the cork free, she threw it to one side, taking a long, satisfying gulp of rum to soothe her nerves. And to think that she had once despised this stuff and all who partook in its golden pleasure! Perhaps it was best to take a leaf of out Jack's book and view the world through the end of a bottle. Sitting heavily in the nearest seat, she took another swig.

"Up early, lass?"

"My God!" She cried, nearly choking on the mouthful of rum, and spluttering heavily at the burning sensation in her chest.

"Easy, lass." Teague chuckled, walking over and patting her hard on the back. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"I didn't mean to wake you." She said once her coughs had subsided enough to allow for speech.

"When yer've been piratin' for as long as I 'ave, lass, yer get used t' sleepin' light." Grabbing a rum bottle from the drinks cabinet, he joined Elizabeth, sitting across from her. "Now, tell ol' Teague wha' could be troublin' a King as feisty as yerself, aye?"

"Bad dream, that's all."

"Care t' share?"

"I don't particularly remember it." She lied. "It faded away as soon as I woke."

Teague smirked. Like his son, he had such a way of reading her.

"Aye, well, ne'ermind. T'is over now, all the same. T'weren' ever real t' begin with."

She nodded, taking another swig of rum.

Teague picked up his guitar, which never seemed to leave his side, and began strumming a soft, delicate melody. Were her nerves not so wrought, the tune could have easily lulled Elizabeth back to sleep.

"We have things to discuss today, Captain Teague."

"Edward." He said gruffly. "Please. We're practically family nowadays, af'er all. An' Lord knows, you'll be needin' any family you can find, what with yer 'usband away. Trust me, lass."

"Family?" She asked, bemused, but touched by the gesture.

"Shipwreck Cove is jus' one big 'appy family, ain' it?" He teased.

"Somehow, I doubt it."

"Course it is! We most all despise each other, avoid each other. There's a never-endin' power struggle, an' there's a new quarrel t' be fough' over every nigh'. An', as in every family, tis always a woman who runs the 'ousehold."

Elizabeth cocked a brow. "None that I've ever come across."

Teague leaned forwards, grinning wryly. "Any man with an ounce of sense knows that its 'is women who run things. A sensible man jus' tries to keep ou' the way. Keep 'is 'ead down, try no' t' bugger anythin' up."

"Sage advice. Have you ever passed on that particular nugget of wisdom to your son?"

"You an' I both know Jackie ain' go' any sense."

"Oh, I don't know. He's daft, for sure. Half of the time I'm convinced that he's mad, but just as often, he seems to show more sense than the rest of us put together. It's how he manages to stay one step ahead."

"Or per'aps 'e stays one step ahead 'cause he's madder than the rest o' yer? The mad can see things we can't, 'cause they're unpredictable." Teague sighed, his smirk broadening. "An' once again, lass, I can' 'elp but notice that we're back on the topic of me son."

"Anyone who knows Jack can't help but talk about him when he's such a maddening bundle of contradictions." She sighed. "But we have more pressing matters to discuss, Captain Teague... Edward. Such as my duties as King, and how often I can be expected to spend my time here, at the cove."

"How would you spend your life, Cap'n Swann?"

"Elizabeth. If I am to call you Edward, you may as well call me Elizabeth."

"Then, 'Lizabet', same question."

Elizabeth scoffed, to hear Teague speak her name so similar to his son's own slurred pronunciation. "I intend to maintain a fine balancing act, Edward. I have my duties as King to uphold, my duties to my husband, and then there is my duty to myself. I need the sea."

"Course yer do, lass." Teague paused to finish a particularly poignant piece on his guitar, before gliding easily into the next song. "We've a few ma'ers which demand yer attention, while yer 'ere. Trivial things, really. Makin' sure the code is bein' up'eld, an' such. Smooth ou' a few creases."

"And then?"

"An' then, the choice is yours. Either, yer be free to roam, but for the odd summons now an' then, when matters need tendin' t' again. Hard t' say 'ow of'en that could be, course. Or, call a vote. Call the brethren court, an' have the court vote for a new King, if you'd rather one responsibility less on yer shoulders."

Elizabeth snorted. "I don't see that as an option, Captain Teague." She replied, her tone waspish. "I am King, and shall remain so for as long as I am able, as far as I am concerned. Somehow I don't think it would be too good for my reputation, in general, to relinquish my place as King so soon."

"Aye, wise, lass, wise." He clucked his tongue. "Well then, you'll be needin' summit." He left the room, taking his guitar with him, his fingers working the frets and plucking deftly as he walked.

It was quite some time before he returned, and Elizabeth had begun to pace, the early morning light pooling across the floorboards, covered in a criss-cross of Turkish rugs of various degrees of wear and tear.

She turned as the guitar song again grew louder, signalling Teague's approach.

"'Ere." He tossed something to her, and she caught it deftly, holding it up to the light. It was a coin, bigger than the pieces of eight held by the nine pirate Lords, yet smaller than the cursed Aztec gold, her finding of which, hidden on a chain around her then-future-husband's neck, had set her on the path to piracy. Yet, otherwise, it was an unremarkable coin. Someone had crudely punctured a hole through the centre of it. "You'll want t' tie that t' a cord or summit, else you'll end up spendin' it."

She made a mental note to do so. Jack's braid of beads and his own piece of eight sprung to mind. It had hung against his bandana until it was so deftly cut away with the tip of Barbossa's sword. Perhaps she could fashion something similar, and wear it in her hair?

"This will sound the call, whenever you are summoned t' up'old yer du'ies as King. Keep it close. Otherwise, yer free t' come an' go as yer please. Equally, as King, yer 'ave as much power t' call the court yerself."

"And how would I do that?"

"By will alone, s'long as the coin be in yer 'and."

She could summon the court just by holding the coin? Impossible, and yet, of course, with all she had seen, that particular fantastical tidbit was nothing in comparison to cursed treasure, skeletal pirates and squid-faced Captains. Jack was one of the nine pirate Lords. To think she had the ability to summon him, just by wishing to see him. Not that he was in the habit of honouring a summoned call unless forced. But nevertheless...

"Can I summon the pirate Lords... individually, or does this power of will only work collectively."

Teague studied her down the bridge of his note. "An' which pirate Lord would yer be wishin' t' summon, lass?"

"I only wish to clarify the details, Captain."

"We seem t' 'ave drifted away from yer callin' me Edward, _'Lizabet'._ "

_Oh! He's as infuriating as his son._

"For fairness' sake," He continued with a smirk. "Yer can summon all or none, lass. S'ow it works."

Elizabeth nodded, turning the coin slowly in her hand.

"Captain... Edward. Do you think that, had things been different, had Will been made a Pirate Lord before he... before the heart of Davy Jones was replaced by his own. Do you think I could have summoned him here, with the rest of the Brethren court?"

"Couldn' rightly say, lass. The rules by which 'e mus' live are differen' t' our own now."

"Of course." She shook her head sternly to herself.

What use was there to dwell on what could have been, had fate intervened just a little differently, or bestowed its hand with a little more kindness? None. None at all, of course.

* * *

For some time, as the sun slowly filled the room with a glowing orange light, the two pirates talked, about the code, Teague's role as its keeper and Elizabeth's duties as King, or alternatively, they simply sat in silence, enjoying the gentle strumming of Teague's guitar, and his seemingly endless repertoire of songs. After a while, Elizabeth remembered just how long it had been since she had bathed, and she enquired to Teague as to whether a bath would be possible.

"There's an old copper-tin lyin' abou' somewhere. I'll 'ave Perkins bring it t' yer room, an' some wa'er."

"Thank you." Elizabeth asked, stretching her arms as she stood. "Edward, is Perkins a servant?"

"No, lass, he's a pirate. 'E jus' gets seasick, is all, an' so prefers land."

"How peculiar." Elizabeth smirked.

"Ain' we all, lass." He winked.

Perkins, the most peculiar pirate, brought the copper bath to her room within twenty minutes, looking rather bedraggled, as though he had been sleeping perhaps twenty-five minutes earlier. This realisation that Teague had probably roused him unexpected from slumber gave Elizabeth a rather uneasy feeling in her stomach. Long gone were the days when she didn't bat an eyelid at the toil of her servants.

"Thank you, Perkins." She smiled as he returned with enough hot water to fill the tub.

He nodded, placing a sheet down on the bed, before exiting, flashing her a sleepy smile as he closed the door.

Locking it, she turned, barely giving pause before she tore out of her clothes, discarding them upon the ground. Her thin dress was especially pungent, having been drenched in sweat, seawater and that rather particular smell of garments drenched by rainwater and then dried out by a scorching sun. Earthy and slightly stale. There was the rather pressing matter of her garments; or lack of. Besides her battle wear, she hadn't a stitch to wear. She had spent her last coin on those hastily prepared garments, haggling them from a pirate newly arrived from Eastern China, and then, of course, she had had to acquire a tailor to alter the robes to fit her slender form. As the newly voted King, and still an inexperienced Captain, she had felt that a regal attire would help to assure her men that she was the right person to lead them into battle. A clever woman always knew how to make her clothes work to her advantage. Besides, there had always been the chance of her being buried at sea. Or captured and taken to the gallows. Either way, she had wished to die dressed in a way befitting to her titles: King, Lord, Captain, Pirate. Governor's daughter.

Yet, now, it occurred to her that she would have to muster a means of acquiring more attire.

Sinking into the hot water, she let out a sigh of satisfaction. Whether she be Governor's daughter or Pirate King, there were fewer greater luxuries than a hot bath. If only she had some soap.

Her muscles eased, she turned her mind back to her lack of money, or clothing, scrubbing her flesh with the flat of her hand absent-mindedly. She was a pirate, damn it. She had stolen clothing before, swapping her wedding dress for a shirt and breeches. But this was different. She was a Captain. A King. There were certain standards to uphold. Appearance made a big difference in keeping hold of the respect of her crew, and her people. She had no desire to deck herself out in gold trim and lace - she had had enough of finery during her upbringing to last her a lifetime, but neither would the clothes to suit a cabin boy do, this time.

_Ah._

She still had another outfit upon The Empress. That which she had worn when mistaken for the goddess Calypso. When Sao Feng had hoped to take her as his own, in exchange for her favour. Surely such finery from Singapore would be worth a shiny penny? For it was not an outfit which she had any desire to keep. Even if she could trade it for enough coin to buy a single outfit. And then... yes, she knew just how to acquire an honest (enough) penny or two on this pirate land, while (she hoped), gaining further respect from her people, without the need of stealing from them. Or whoring herself out to them.

Sinking deeper into the water, she smiled to herself.

_Yes, Will, I'll be just fine by myself. Don't you worry about me._


	4. Fit for a King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter because of the amount of research required. Trying to understand 18th-century currencies, silk prices, etc. Trying to accurately name each garment from Singapore worn by Elizabeth in AWE. God, it was tough, and some things I just had to estimate. Not to mention that historically, modern Singapore wasn't actually founded until 1819, meaning that the movies are historically inaccurate in the first place... If anyone happens to be an expert on Eastern Fashion and/or 18th-century fabric costs, feel free to educate me :)
> 
> P.S. Jack will be back. Be patient, Sparrabeth fans!

**Chapter Four: Fit for a King**

Bathed, Elizabeth dressed her self once again in her soiled robe, acquiring a new gown a high priority for her day. Whatever her pirate duties, they could at least wait until she had gone to market. Not that she needed concern herself. Having found her way to a dining room, where breakfast was being served to a few dozen heavy-lidded resident pirates, Teague amongst them, the collective stench of grime, sweat and other bodily fluids convinced her that by comparison, she no doubt smelt like a bed of roses still. But she couldn't rid herself of her feeling of disgust. It was quite one thing to go unbathed and wearing dirty clothes in the midst of a venture when there was little time to even notice such things. It was quite another to continue to do so willingly.

Informing Teague that she had a few urgent matters to deal with in town, he assured her that life didn't really begin at court until late in the afternoon and that half the town would be nursing their sore heads from the night prior until then. Pausing to conceal the chest which contained her husband's heart beneath the floorboards of her bedchamber (she would have to decide what was to be done with Will's heart, and soon), and with a couple of half-stale bread rolls tucked into her coat pocket, she made her way to the docks and her ship.

Her crew had been ordered to rotate so that all would be granted leave, while never abandoning the ship entirely, and so she wasn't at all surprised to see various crewmates scattered across the decks, all sleeping heavily and looking rather worse for wear. Her first mate, Tai Huang, stood at the helm, his being on duty for the morning. She noticed too his rather red-eyed gaze, and tossed him a bread roll, with a curt nod.

"Captain?" He asked, rushing to her side.

"I just need something from below, Huang. Any trouble last night?"

"None, Captain. The entire town was celebrating our victory."

"As they should! Very good, Huang, as you were." She called over her shoulder as she made her way to her cabin.

Her cabin. With the splintered wood and gaping hole from cannon fire; cannon fire which had spared her from being no doubt violated by Sao Feng, while costing him his life, it was hardly fit for inhabitation, and she felt no personal connection to the room, as of yet. She had plans for repairs too, before setting sail again. Luckily, the blow had been clean, and the damage not too severe. A drape had been hung haphazardly over the hole to afford her some slither of privacy, as she had changed from the attire of a goddess - in Sao Feng's misjudged eyes - to the warrior's robes she wore now. Grabbing the secondary outfit from where it had been discarded, she turned on her heels, leaving as quickly as she arrived.

"I have things to see to in town, Huang. I trust I can leave you to your duties?"

He gave her a brief bow, which she returned with an incline of her head.

"Good. Otherwise, I shall be with Teague, if needed. I have matters to attend to. After your leave, let's see to patching up my ship, shall we?"

"Aye, Captain."

She made her way back down the gangplank, her bundle of fabric tucked under her arm.

The town was littered with bodies, all alive, but oblivious to the world around them, in their rum-soaked befuddlement. Nevertheless, business continued as usual, the bars and whorehouses opening their doors early for business.

_What's the point of opening business doors so early, when their clients are out cold until sunset?_ She asked herself, stepping over another pirate. Though she, at least, could take advantage of their custom.

Soon enough she found a promising looking shop, with rolls of fabric and a few dresses; clearly in keeping with the tastes of the resident 'ladies of the night', and she pushed her way indoors, the creek of old hinges announcing her arrival.

A broad-backed woman, perhaps ten or so years older than Elizabeth, turned at the sound, a roll of slightly soiled fabric bundled in her arms. She placed it down on the counter hastily but didn't rush to Elizabeth, as she had been accustomed to when shopping for pretty trim for her gowns as a Governor's daughter. Instead, she eyed Elizabeth from top to toe, walking towards her with slow, meandering steps.

"Captain Swann." She said, with a heavy French accent. "It ees a pleasure to 'ave you in my shop."

"You know me?" Elizabeth couldn't help but ask.

"But, of course! You are zee King, non?"

"I am. And you are, Madame?"

"Madame Fleury." The woman said, without a bow.

Elizabeth nodded, taking the bundle from beneath the crook of her arm. "You have a wonderful shop. I wondered if you might consider a trade? Finest from Singapore. Worn just once, by the King of the Brethren Court, herself." She smirked. With a flourish, she shook out the bundle, handing the delicate items to Madame Fleury once at a time: a green dress, hand-printed with cherry blossoms; a burgundy wrap with black trim, and a teal waistcoat, the seamstress admiring each with feigned indifference. Elizabeth, however, did not miss the glimmer of interest in her eye. "Complete with headpiece, you will note." She said, handing over the latter.

"You would make a fine saleswoman, Madame."

"In another life, perhaps."

"And, for what would you trade for zeese?"

"That depends on how much you consider it all to be worth."

Madame Fleury pulled a face of mock displeasure as she rubbed the fabric between her fingers, to test its quality.

"La qualité est... très bonne."

"Mais bien sûr."

"Mais, non, Madame." Madame Fleury shook her head. "I cannot give you much. C'est magnifique, oui, mais... if I give you as much as zis robe is worth, you could take all zeese robes, and zis whole shop, and it still not be enough."

"I think surely it makes you a bad saleswoman to admit that?"

"Oui, mais, Madame, with a robe such as zis, and a woman such as yourself, I would be a fool to try and trick you. I see you, Madame. You were born to a good family. You know 'ow much zis is worth, and I cannot take it." She held the dress back to Elizabeth, who was quite taken aback, not having expected this reaction.

"I doubt a robe such as this would remain in the shop window for long. What is a gamble, amongst pirates?"

"Madame, you don't understand. Zee only women 'ere, are zee whores, and some women like myself, with shops and alehouses. Neither sort can afford a robe such as zis, and even if one of zee whores finds zee money, it would be bad for you if a whore is seen walking 'ere in your robe, Madame, as you are zee King."

Elizabeth was forced to agree.

"Then perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement." Striding around the room, she perused the fabrics and gowns. "Because I am quite determined to be rid of that particular outfit."

Madam Fleury pondered a moment.

"If I may ask, Madam, why is it you wish to be 'rid of' zis robe? Tis an interesting choice of words, non?"

Elizabeth glanced towards her. The woman was quite pretty, with dark hair and grey eyes wiser than her years, eyes which had seen much in this world. Much of its harshness.

"You're very observant."

"Tis my job to be so."

"I suppose it is." Elizabeth fidgeted with the corner of a roll of striped red cotton. "Well, truth be told, I wore that gown but once, and it has quite a sad history." She told of her encounter with the legendary pirate, Sao Feng, and his having mistaken her identity for that of a sea goddess. 'How foolish, to believe in goddesses', Madame Fleury had cried, and Elizabeth had bit her lip to suppress a laugh. She told of the kiss he had forced upon her, the dark look in his eyes and her certainty as to what he would do to her, how her hand had drifted across a tabletop, in search of a weapon. And then, cannon fire. The deadly blow, his making her a Pirate Lord as she stood before him in that very gown.

"And so I want rid of that robe."

"But why, Madame?" Madame Fleury seemed genuinely perplexed. "Zis robe, you wore during something 'orrible, oui, mais, it was also a great moment. You became a Pirate Lord. And, Madame," The woman stepped closer to Elizabeth now, taking her hand. "Something worse could have happened to, yet it didn't. That cannonball saved you, from 'im. And even before zat, you said yourself zat you were reaching for a weapon. You would 'ave saved yourself, 'ad the cannonball not reached 'im first. Madame, as we women all know, we only grow stronger, zee more _men_ try to break us."

There was a brittleness to her tone. Elizabeth understood.

"You should keep zis." Madame Fleury picked up the burgundy wrap, handing it to Elizabeth. "I think you will regret it if you don't. I shall take zee rest. As I said, I cannot afford to trade you for everything, after all. It would... 'ow you say? Bankrupt me."

"I... thank you, Madame." Elizabeth blushed.

With a curt nod of her head, Madame Fleury stepped away, suddenly flustered. Elizabeth pretended not to note her distress, sensing that the conversation was over, and instead busied herself by searching amongst the gowns for something suitable for the evening. Something which required little alterations. She was unused to buying gowns pre-made, let alone second hand, and her slender frame, being ever unfashionable, limited her options.

Holding up a navy blue gown to herself, she studied her reflexion in the mirror, wrinkling her nose to see how much the waist gaped.

"Are you searching for something in particular, Madame?" Madame Fleury asked.

"Something befitting a King newly returned from battle. I have matters to see to regarding the Brethren Court, after which I shall be setting sail with my crew. I need something suitable. And I'd rather die than find myself once again in a corset." She wrinkled her nose as a particularly painful-looking gown, which couldn't possibly be worn without such a torture device.

"I 'ave a red gown which I 'ave been saving for zee right woman, Madame. C'est très belle."

"I feel more comfortable in breeches, in all honesty. Much more practical for life at sea."

"Oui, mais are you today a Captain, or a King at court?"

Elizabeth smirked. Madame Fleury was a better saleswoman than she had judged her to be.

"Zee two are very different situations. It is necessary to dress very differently. Non, for a King of Pirates," She disappeared towards the back of the shop, calling over her shoulder. "A strong, powerful woman such as yourself, you need quelque chose come ça." She stepped into the room holding a beautiful gown before her.

Blood red, the dress appeared to have once been a hunting gown, the skirt hugging tighter to the body than was typical. Yet it had been altered to create a dress like none other Elizabeth had seen before; elegant, yet still far more practical than the cumbersome gowns which her father would purchase for her from London or Paris. Sleeveless, the neckline scooped quite low and broad, the waist trim. Madame Fleury explained that with just a little alteration, Elizabeth would get away with forgoing a corset.

Taking the dress from the shopkeeper's fingers, Elizabeth held it up to herself, admiring herself in the slightly grubby mirror.

"Ah, but zere is more!" The woman disappeared again, before returning holding a matching redingote jacket, military in style, with gold braid and buttons, high at the front, to reveal a trim waist, but falling almost as long as the dress in the back. "With zee jacket, you could get away with no corset!"

Elizabeth beamed. "Perfect." She pointed towards the garments from Singapore. "How much will you trade for the green dress and waistcoat?"

"Ah, but you 'ave another thing to find first, non? Before we settle on a price. Something fit for a pirate captain."

"Have you another coat?" Elizabeth asked, still admiring the blood-red redingote. "I think we should start with a coat. And a hat."

"Ah, non. You will 'ave to find a milliner for zat. But I 'ave a coat, perfect for madame, oui." Disappearing again, she returned shortly with another garment. "Zis is new, from a French ship, Madame, just a few days before now. New. Never worn."

Deep emerald green in colour, Elizabeth knew at once that, yes, this was her captain's coat. Similar in style to the first, with gold braid and buttons, a military cut flattering to the female figure. The buttons ended at the waist, but the coat was tapered, longer at the back, covering the hips and falling to mid-thigh. It was designed to be worn over a skirt, but would perhaps look just as well over breeches, or perhaps even with straight trousers... yes. It would do just nicely. Pulling off her coat, Elizabeth slipped the jacket on over her dress. It fit near perfectly, again in need of just a little tweak of the waist.

"And I 'ave a fine cream waistcoat which would suit it very well, Madame." Madame Fleury added.

Striding around the room, Elizabeth immediately felt more powerful. There was something about the coat which made her feel... complete. As a woman born to finery, she had always had an innate understanding as to the power of clothing to a woman. Yet she had never before worn anything which had affected her quite as strongly.

"Madame," Madame Fleury gasped, watching Elizabeth admire herself before the mirror. "C'est magnifique."

"Would two garments alone be enough to cover all of this?" Elizabeth asked. "Two coats, a gown, a waistcoat, and I will need a pair of breeches and a shirt, also."

"Oui, Madame." She said, indicating the green dress and the waistcoat. "For zis, is enough." She eyed the beaded collar of the waistcoat, wide-eyed. "The detail, Madame. So beautiful! Such fine silk! The people of Singapore have such a way of making clothes!"

"Yes." Elizabeth had to agree, still stroking her new gown. "A fine trade." Eyeing some shelves in the corner of the room, she plucked free a white bishop-sleeved shirt, and, from another corner, a pair of black breeches. "I should try these things on."

She left the shop sometime later having secured her trade for two new outfits. While leaving Madame Fleury to hastily alter her blood-red gown and coat, Elizabeth had traded the elaborate Singapore headpiece for a hat at a nearby milliner's shop; a black, leather tricorn, trimmed with gold lace ribbon and ostrich and pheasant feathers. This left her with the burgundy wrap with its black sash and, as she thought again of Madame Fleury's words, she couldn't help but be glad to have kept it. But there was still the need for coin.

Turning the corner, she spotted a pawn shop at the far end of the street. Eyeing the remaining garment, she strode confidently towards the counter, a pudgy, red-faced man peering back at her.

"Good day to you, your Majestic one." He greeted her with a mocking tilt of the head.

"Good day, Sir." She smirked. It seemed word travelled fast, and everyone recognised her as their new King. "I was wondering what you might give for this?" She held out the wrap. "Finest from Singapore."

The man eyed the item greedily, running his fingers across the soft silk. "I'll give you two pounds for it."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Two pounds! Come, come, considering that a single yard of _French_ brocade satin costs eighteen shillings and six, here I give you a garment made with what must be _three_ yards of finest silk all the way from _Singapore_ and you mean to tell me it's only worth two pounds? It's worth five, at least, as you well know."

"The cost of untouched fabric by the yard doesn't compare to that of a worn little frock like this, Miss." The man retorted, shaking the garment at her.

"Nonsense, it's worth far more than two pounds, and you know it. I'll trade it for five."

"Can't go any higher than two pounds and ten shillings."

"Four pounds and ten shillings."

"Two and twelve."

They continued this way for some time until the cock of Elizabeth's pistol convinced the man that four pounds, eight shillings, and sixpence was a very reasonable price, generously accepted by Elizabeth. She would have retrieved the item by the following morning, regardless.

The weighted coin purse tucked carefully against her breast, the bundle of her new gown tucked carefully beneath her arm, Elizabeth made her way back to the meeting house, feeling rather pleased with herself.

She made a beeline to the kitchen, entering to find a red-faced cook needing batter, while a kitchen maid peeled potatoes.

"Ah, good afternoon." Elizabeth smiled. "You would be the cook."

The cook, a plump, middle-aged woman who looked rather like every domestic cook who had ever worked within the Governor's household, eyed the visitor suspiciously. "Yes?" She snapped.

"I'm Elizabeth Swann - _Captain._ " She added.

"Oh, there you are, then." The cook said, her eyes raking once more over Elizabeth. "Perkins mentioned that you were about."

"Did he now?" Elizabeth cocked a brow. "And what is your name?"

"Mrs. Rogers, Miss." The cook said, still kneading the dough before her. "That there is Milly." She added, pointing a thumb towards the kitchen maid, a small, red-headed girl, who blushed furiously as she met Elizabeth's eye.

"Pleasure. Mrs. Rogers, have you begun preparations for tonight's supper?"

"Aye, Miss."

"And might I ask what you have planned?"

"Same as always, Miss. Vegetable broth and bread."

"Same as always?"

"This ain't no fine house, Miss. Captain Teague has simple tastes, and whoever might come and go can have just the same as him."

"I see. Well, Mrs. Rogers. Might I be able to persuade you to something a bit grander, for just this night? We have a cause to celebrate, you know."

"Aye, so I've heard, Miss. What is it you have in mind?"

Elizabeth shook the coin purse. "I was hoping to send your girl," She pointed at Milly, "to buy the biggest pig to be found. Tonight, we will be feasting. Perhaps we can find a few extra hands to help about the kitchen?"

"Perkins can help." Mrs. Rogers sighed, rubbing flour across her brow. "But, I dunno, Miss. How many will be dining?"

"Oh, it'll be nothing fancy. We are amongst seafaring men, after all. We can forgo the silver. Perhaps Perkins can help put the pig on the spit, and otherwise, just a few extra vegetables should suffice. And rum. Plenty of rum."

Mrs. Rogers paused for a long moment, considering the task ahead.

"And of course, you will both be more than welcome to join the festivities." Elizabeth added.

The cook's rosy face immediately split into a hearty grin. "Aye, Miss. Sounds like a fine thing!"

"Wonderful." Elizabeth opened the coin purse. "Three shillings and ten should suffice, no?" She handed the coins to Milly. "And see about getting some rum from one of the alehouses."

Milly nodded, wiping her hands on her apron.

"And I want a full account of expenditures. If I am to call Shipwreck Cove home, I will need to know what to expect to pay for basic commodities." Elizabeth said. "We shall feast at sunset, Mrs. Rogers."

The cook nodded, busying herself immediately.

Once in her bedchamber, Elizabeth locked the door behind her, hurrying to her bed to tear open the bundle of garments. While her green coat, breeches and the cream waistcoat which she had consented to purchase with it were still being altered, to be collected later that day, Madame Fleury had done a fine job of preparing her gown and redingote for the evening.

Not waiting a moment longer, Elizabeth shed herself of her coat and soiled dress, pulling on her new outfit with as much excitement as she had displayed whenever her father had surprised her with a new gown, what felt like a lifetime ago now. It seemed she would always have a weakness for fine things, even if she knew now how unnecessary they were in life. But, oh, to wear a gown without a corset! How freeing!

The fastenings hung loosely at her back. She would have to ask Milly to help her. The dress fit her perfectly. It felt wonderful, the neckline wide, revealing her collarbones and long, slender neck. Pulling on the redingote, she buttoned it up as fast as her fingers would allow. There was no mirror by which to admire herself, but no matter, Elizabeth knew just how well she looked. It was a gown fit for a Pirate King. Elizabeth threw herself down in a seat, laughing to herself.

She had learned much since first setting foot upon the Black Pearl, on that strange night, when Barbossa and his men had arrived in Port Royal in search of a medallion which, innocently enough that morning, Elizabeth had chosen to wear. Chosen to wear after dreaming about that very ship. She had learned to tie knots and sail, to barter and bargain and hold her own against men far older, more ruthless and experienced than herself, how to handle both a pistol and a sword with expert precision and how to use her sharp mind to her advantage. During her long, arduous journey to World's End, she had learned a skill which would now once again come in handy; to gamble. Various card and dice games had been introduced to the table by the international crew, to entertain the weary pirates during those long nights at sea; poker, sic bo, liar's dice, teen pathi, and kalooki, and she had discovered a talent for poker in particular, all those years of governess teaching her the importance of maintaining an air of elegant nonchalance were finally paying off. And, oh, how poor Miss. Meadows would balk in horror to know how her protege was utilising her skills!

Keeling carefully on the floorboards, the pressed against a particular plank so that it sprung upwards. Pushing it aside, she reached in, retrieving the chest containing her husband's heart. She would have to better hide it before the feast, for who knows who might decide to take a knife to Will's heart, given the chance. Brushing aside bits of sawdust which had fallen from the floorboard, she hugged it to her, pressing her ear against the lid to listen to the steady _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart. A heart which she claimed to be hers. Will had taught her to play liar's dice, and despite the uneasy tension between them, they had managed to salvage something of what had once been through hours of playing the game together, upon the deck of the little ship, on route to Singapore. Childish laughter and harmless touches; fingers brushing against hands, arms touching as the rocking of the ship urged them closer.

In that moment, she missed him terribly, a great, seeping ache in her heart. _Will._


	5. The Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I particularly had fun in writing a rousing post-battle, Pirate-King speech for Elizabeth to open the celebratory feast. Here, she truly shows her badass colours. This chapter may start a little slow, but first, Elizabeth has to see to hiding Will's heart.
> 
> Oh, and Jack will be back very soon (chapter 7) - I miss writing their banter!

**Chapter Five: The Feast**

"The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will we'll roam." Elizabeth sang mournfully as she rowed the commandeered dingy to the islet which she had so carefully marked out on Teague's charts. "Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high," her arms aching, she breathed a sigh of relief as the hull of the boat finally met with the shore, and, stepping out nimbly, she pulled the boat further on land. "Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die."

Reaching into the boat, she pulled the black chest which contained her husband's heart, and a small, roughly made shovel. With just a few hours until sunset, she would have to move fast. Walking briskly, she headed into the shrubbery, towards a rocky mound, within which, if she was not mistaken, lay a small cave.

Her first day 'at court' had certainly been busy. Her meeting with Teague had been shaky at first as she had found her footing within her new role. Without a battle to be fought and troops to be rallied, she had struggled to understand her place within Shipwreck Cove. Sure, she had proved herself. But what need did her people - her piratical people - need of her on a day-to-day basis? As she had predicted, the dress had certainly helped. Helped her confidence, at least. With her noble blood and a good upbringing, she had carried herself with all the airs and graces of any Queen, yet maintaining a fierce ferocity demanded by a King. And not just a King, but a Pirate King. She was Boudicca, Cleopatra, Grace O'Malley.

How many rooms had fallen silent at her entrance, over the years? She had always been well aware of her reputation as a 'great society beauty', and had always had numerous suitors hoping to win her affections. At the countless balls of her youth, she had perfected the graceful gait and slightly arrogant raised chin which she had utilised to her benefit as King, and, once again, her regal entrance has inspired a hushed, awed silence, even amongst pirates, as effectively as it had her suitors.

"King Swann." Teague had smirked, and she had nodded to him in response, seating herself at the head of the table.

A twinge of sadness as her eyes scanned the room, recognising few. Of course, he was not there, but she found herself longing for his presence, for him to witness what she had become.

_Look at who I am, Jack. With perhaps a little guidance from you, I admit._

Stumbling on a rock which protruded jaggedly from her rough path, she cursed loudly, propping the chest against her hip as she reached down to rub her toe.

_Not that I wouldn't have found my way without you, of course_. _I was born for this, Jack. You saw it before even I did. Born to be a pirate._

The shadows lay long, the golden glow of the dying sun casting a haze upon the earth. The cave lay just ahead, its entrance little more than a slither of darkness within the red stone. Perfect. No one would be able to enter, besides perhaps small children, and, she hoped, a very slender woman. And what would either, beside herself, ever be doing on such a godforsaken spit of land such as this?

Placing her hand upon the rock, she peered inside. The tunnel was not tall enough for her to enter while standing, and so she would be forced to crawl, pushing the chest along with her, little by little. Grateful that she had taken the time to change from her gown into breeches and shirt, she set herself to the task at hand, wrapping her hair in a bandana to keep it clean. She had to look presentable that night, for the feast, after all, and wouldn't have time to bathe again on her return.

Crouching on hands and knees, she crawled slowly into the mouth of the cave, pushing the chest ahead of her, the shovel dragging awkwardly at her side. The point of her sword scraped against the walls of the cave with each uncomfortable shuffle, and she found herself hoping desperately that she would be able to make it out again. What if the tunnel never widened? What if she couldn't find a suitable place to hide Will's heart? She had chosen this spot in haste, after all, stealing away a moment to look amongst Teague's charts. This island was uninhabited. Only luck had granted her such a perfect cave - or the perfect way for her to die. Elizabeth Swann, King, Captain, Pirate... suffocated to death in a tiny slither of a cave, clutching her beloved's heart to her chest. Tragic. Not that anyone would ever know what would have happened to her. She had told nobody as to her journey, commandeering a dingy so that even her own crew were unaware. One could never be too careful, with a cargo as precious as Will's heart, after all. Who could she ever truly trust in this world, after all? Even amongst pirates. Especially amongst pirates, she should say. Despite the fact that, at times, they had proven themselves to be the most trustworthy sorts of all.

Her fears were soon confirmed, her chin knocking against the lid of the chest as she compressed herself tighter into the shrinking space. Her ribcage felt contracted, a knot tightening in her throat. She could go no further, without surely trapping herself forever. The shovel would be no use to her. If only she hadn't brought the damned thing with her. Surely it had scraped a gash into her calf as she had dragged it roughly alongside her. She could feel the trickle of blood running horizontally down her leg. Dropping it to her side, she moved the chest out of her way as best as she could, and pulled her dagger from her pocket, using it as a rough shovel to dig at the earth, which was soft enough, luckily, and gave way easily. Flinging the debris ahead of her, she clawed at the ground with her fingers, panting furiously to herself. Was there enough air in here? Or was she blocking the passage sufficiently enough to suffocate? It was hard to tell. God, why did a human heart require such a large chest? She dug until her fingers bled, the dagger slipping twice, jabbing hard into her fingers and the palm of her left hand.

_So much for looking presentable._ She scoffed, feeling beads of sweat drip down into her eyes.

At last, the hole seemed just big enough to contain the chest, albeit beneath a small mound. Not that anyone would see. Whoever would be able to fit down there besides herself? Using her hands to scoop clumps of dirt into the hole, she patted the dirt brusquely, pausing to kiss her dirty fingertips, before pressing them atop the mound. "No one will find it here, my love." She whispered. "Your heart is safe now."

With that, she began to shuffle awkwardly backwards, abandoning the shovel, before thinking better of it, and grabbing it. The point of her sword was catching on every rough edge of the cave, and so she pulled it free from her waistband, the sword and shovel crossed awkwardly in front of her. She hardly dared breath until she felt a patch of grass beneath her calf, which, on inspection, was indeed bloody from the shovel, and, as she sat upright, relished the breeze on her face.

Pausing a moment to wipe her brow with a scrap of a handkerchief, and to clean the blood from her leg as best she could, Elizabeth stood, steadying herself for a moment against the cave as her knees quivered. She staggered towards her commandeered dingy, quite sure that her gait was more akin to Jack's at that moment. Throwing the shovel into the base of the boat, she grabbed a bottle of rum (how strange, she didn't recall bringing it with her, and yet she supposed that she must have done so), and, uncorking it, took a long, deep swig before pouring a generous amount against the wound of her calf, hissing sharply to herself at the sting. Taking another swig, she deposited the now empty bottle back into the boat, before clambering in herself.

The sun lingering just above the horizon.

Time for the feast.

* * *

Having scrubbed the dirt free from beneath her fingernails and washed the sweat from her brow in a basin, acquired for her by Perkins, as well as a slither of broken mirror, Elizabeth studied her reflection critically. Certainly, she would cause uproar were she to attend a society ball or even high tea, but for a Pirate King, perhaps the wild strands of hair and flushed, deeply tanned complexion would add to her overall appearance. Pausing for a moment, she pulled her hairpins loose with a tug, allowing her curls to fall around her shoulders as a wild mane.

_It'll have to do_. She thought to herself, placing down the mirror and brushing the last creases from her gown. The aromas of the awaiting feast hung heavy in the air, and she knew better than to keep the inhabitants of Shipwreck Cove waiting.

With all the poise of a Governor's daughter, she made her way down the hall, a hand lingering near the hilt of her sword, which was concealed in her skirts. The hallway was bare, but for a few stragglers, lingering here and there with a tankard of rum in hand, already looking very much worse for wear.

Most of the pirates were already in the great hall, and as she entered, the same hushed silence fell as she had experienced earlier that day, during her meeting with Teague. She felt every inch a King, and the hundreds of candles which adorned every available surface only gave her the appearance of a glittering statue of gold, golden hair, burning, spice-brown eyes penetrating the soul of anyone who dared look upon her. The flickering glow accented her harsh features, all sharp lines and dark shadows.

Once again, she found herself looking around for one man, one pair of dark, smouldering eyes. She wanted him to see her. If anyone ought to be there, it ought to be him, smirking from amongst the shadows, watching her.

For a moment, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, saw the trademark sway of his gait, heard the tinkling of his dreadlocks as the various beads and charms danced with his step. But as she turned her head, she saw that it was only Teague, walking towards her. He gave an exaggerated, perhaps even mocking, bow, hat in hand, it brushed against the ground as he stooped.

"Beau'iful, as always." He said, righting himself, placing the hat back atop his head. He seemed strange without it. Incomplete. "Kind o' you t' join us."

"I had a few matters to attend to." She explained, glancing around. The pig, which had been roasted in the large fireplace at the far end of the room, had already been carved, and several men and a redheaded female pirate were eating with all the dignity of the animal itself. "I see people had no qualms about feasting before my arrival." She cocked a brow.

"There be no fine manners 'ere, Cap'n Swann." Teague smirked.

Elizabeth noted the return to formality and was glad. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to make assumptions as to why Teague referred to her by her Christian name. Not that she was quite sure herself why she allowed it, besides the fact that she was a pirate, and therefore, hang with rules!

"I wouldn't expect any less." Turning sharply, she raked her eyes over Teague's belt. "May I?" Without waiting for a response, she pulled his pistol free from his sash, raising her skirts so that her boots protruded - let these men not forget for a moment what sort of King she was, after all - and climbed atop the nearest table, shooting into the rafters as she did so. A light dusting of debris fell to the ground, and all eyes were at once on her.

"Gentlemen." She began, chin raised as she projected her voice around the room. "Ladies." She said pointedly in acknowledgement to the few female pirates present. "No doubt you all already celebrated our victory yesterday, but I say, why limit ourselves to a single night of festivities after so great a triumph?" As she raised Teague's still-smoking pistol to the skies, the crowd of pirates cheered in agreement. "We come here tonight as victors in the greatest battle I wager any of us will live to see. The golden age is still upon us! Our freedom is secured, gentlemen - ladies! Secured by little more than our toil, by the strength of our backs, and the sweat of our brows, and the courage of our hearts! And fate shining down upon us!" Another cheer, the pirates stomping their feet in unison. "And we have a second reason for celebration, and it is the reason why I could not attend the last. During the height of battle, I was married, to one William Turner. Captain Turner, who, on stabbing the wretched, blackened heart of one Davy Jones, took his place at the helm of The Flying Dutchman." Wild-eyed, she paused to see the effect of his announcement. Instead of cheers, the crowd stared back at her, whispering to themselves.

"The Flying Dutchman!" She heard one say.

"Poppet'll 'ave 'im in 'er pocket now, aye?" Whispered another, followed by a murmured agreement, the voices of, quite possibly, Pintel and Ragetti.

"The Dutchman is once again our ally. No longer must we fear that impossible choice: an eternity in Jones' hellish locker, or sailing the doldrums beyond this world, forever, or else, serving a hundred brutal years aboard that cursed ship. I have seen the reality of that fate myself, and believe me, it is a fate we can rejoice to be spared from. Many of you will have seen The Dutchman rise from the depths and fight at the side of The Black Pearl, the very ship upon which I fought battle as your equal, and married amongst the blood and sweat of you brave men - and women. Many of you will have seen the two ships battle The Endeavour, and you will have seen for yourselves how foolish it was of Beckett to dare approach us. A _fool_ he was. Yes, The Dutchman is our ally, but let this too be known: my husband is loyal to me, as I him, and despite the distance which the curse of The Dutchman may force us to bear, he _hears_ me." She allowed the hint of a threat to hang in the air, and no one spoke, or moved, or seemed to even breathe. Smiling, she shook her mane, the moment passed, her voice lighter. "And so, men," She stooped, grabbing a goblet of rum from the table, raising it before her. "Ladies. Let us drink to my marriage, to our victory, and to our freedom! May no wretched soul ever dare try and take it from us again!" As she raised the goblet to her lips, the room erupted into an extraordinary uproar of cheers, stomping and laughter, as everyone toasted alongside her, many toasting her health and that of her husband.

Leaping lightly to the ground, she returned Teague's pistol to him.

"You'll 'ave t' get one of yer own, you know." He smirked.

She pulled a pleat of her skirts aside to reveal the butt of her own gun. "Forgive me. I was aiming for dramatics."

"Aye, well, you managed that." He laughed, handing her a bottle of rum, clinking it with his own in a toast. "A fine speech."

She nodded her head in thanks.

It was an evening greater than any society ball she had attended. Crates of rum and wine and exotic liquors from every corner of the globe lined the walls, several men positioning themselves directly beneath the tap, mouths open and arms resting serenely behind their heads as they almost literally drowned in their merriment. The hog was devoured within the hour, and yet there seemed a never-ending stream of sweetmeats, sugared delights and roasted vegetables to slake even the hungriest of appetites. Fiddlers (and often Teague, with his guitar) played energetically into the night, many taking to the floor to dance a jig, Elizabeth too taking several eager turns upon the dance-floor. Boxes of cigars were passed around, thick fumes of smoke weighing heavy in the air. The finest opium and hashish appeared from some dark corner, though Elizabeth knew not from where, or whom, and she didn't indulge. It was important to keep a clear head.

Well feasted and perhaps the slightest bit giddy on wine, she made her way to one of many cards tables, for it was here where she intended to spend much of her evening. Many men were already playing poker, but, spying a free seat, she made her way towards them, her gait leisurely as she surveyed the scene. Three men were currently playing, all having drunk considerably more than herself. Their dealer was a youngish man perhaps only a few years older than herself, handsome but for a jagged red scar which ran the length of his face. A blade had clearly missed his eye by mere millimetres.

Careful to add a wobble to her step which would suggest that she had indulged in more than a few glasses, she placed her hands upon the back of the vacant seat.

"May I join, gentlemen?"

They each turned to look at her. The boy nearest to her could be no older than twenty, thin tufts of a red beard upon his chin. He doffed his hat clumsily at her, wide green eyes taking in every inch of her wild appearance. The second man was from West Africa, black eyes with yellow scleras, and even seated, he was almost as tall as Elizabeth was when standing. The third man was perhaps fifty, with salt and pepper hair and brown eyes which struggled to focus on her. He was definitely the most drunk of the three.

The African man chortled, his voice deep and guttural. "If you think you stand a chance, Captain Swann."

Smirking, she took her seat, taking her coin purse from her waistband. She threw three coins into the pile to match the wager. "I'll take my chances, Sir."

* * *

Teague leant against a beam near the carcass of the hog, long since picked clean, his arms crossed, a smile toying on his lips. He had been watching Elizabeth play for over an hour and had to admire her cunning. She was clever enough to win, but not so arrogant as to win _every time_. She knew better than to raise suspicion, especially amongst such a suspicious crowd. And, indeed, a crowd had gathered around the table, watching as she so deftly, elegantly bled each pirate dry without his even raising an eyebrow, keeping them distracted with her quick wit and easy charm. She was the best pirate he'd ever seen, that much was for sure.

_That explains that look in his eye_. He thought to himself, his mind turning to his son.

A cabin boy appeared at Elizabeth's side, offering her a box of cigarettes, rolled in fine, dark brown liquorice paper. She took one, and several men, the cabin boy included, struck a match to light it for her. Smiling, she turned her head to the cabin boy, thanking him as she took a long drag, blowing a neat, round smoke circle into the air. Another skill acquired during her voyage to World's End. Though this one she preferred to partake in sparingly, not being as fond of the taste of tobacco as the men she knew.

Raising a brow to the table, she made a mental tally of her winnings. She had acquired more than enough to fund repairs to her ship and restock the hold. It was time to pull away before someone objected to her luck.

Two dozen men had gathered to watch the performance, cheering at her every win, booing whenever she (unknowingly to them), allowed a loss.

"Another game, gentlemen?" She smiled.

The original trio had long since disappeared to some dark opium corner or nearby brothel, and the three seated before her now were all still no doubt in their teens, foolishly gambling away their feeble savings in order to try and impress her. They each flitted their gaze nervously to each other, daring someone to decline.

"Aye." A boy named Rutland, the most confident of the trio, declared, quickly followed by the others. They each threw their coins into the centre of the table, raising the ante, each time to a nervous gulp of an Adam's apple.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, studying the two cards in her hand: _Queen of hearts, and Jack of hearts; an excellent start_. Delicately, she licked her lower lip, allowing a fraction of a pink tongue to appear. It was her tell. A bluffed tell.

Willoughby, the youngest looking player, scratched his ear as he studied his own cards; his own tell, though she wagered that his was genuine and unnoticed by himself. By the way that his eyes darted around the room, he was clearly nervous.

Both Rutland and, the third, an Italian boy named Capuci, looked equally unsettled.

Nevertheless, all three men added their coin to match the ante.

"I raise you a penny." She smiled, adding yet more coins.

_Just a penny, boys. I'm sure you can manage another penny._

The boys reluctantly followed suit.

Licking her lips once more, she raised the ante a penny.

They matched.

A second penny and Willoughby was forced to fold, his having no more coins to bet.

Rutland smirked, staring Elizabeth down.

Capuci took a long swig of wine, the goblet hiding his expression.

Elizabeth licked her lips again, going as far as to chew on the inside of her cheek.

A bet made, the dealer, whose name was Adamson, drew three cards for all four of them; the flop. Elizabeth examined her cards, careful to keep her expression neutral. _A King of hearts, a ten of hearts, and a seven of spades._

Another round of betting, a shilling was added to the total, and Capuci too folded, collapsing against the back of his seat in defeat as he took a long swig from his goblet.

Adamson drew them each a fourth card; the turn.

Elizabeth's was a _Queen of spades_.

"Care to up the ante, Mr. Rutland?" She crooned.

He laughed, his accent thick, Scottish. "Aye." He threw in another penny, and she matched him easily. They each added another three pennies before closing the bet.

Adamson drew the final card; the river.

Her face neutral, Elizabeth studied her hand.

A disappointing _seven of diamonds_.

They bet once more, their pride driving another fourpence in total onto the table. Rutland's eyes twinkling with confidence in his hand.

Adamson, whose voice was perhaps a touch too high pitched to match his rugged appearance, requested that they play their hand. While Capuci and Willoughby had both folded, and therefore couldn't claim the winnings, they were still obliged to reveal their cards.

Willoughby went first.

_King of spades, Queen of clubs, four of diamonds, four of clubs, three of clubs._

"Pair."

Capuci followed.

_Queen of diamonds, ten of diamonds, five of diamonds, four of hearts, two of hearts._

He said nothing, merely taking another swig of wine.

Placing her five chosen cards down upon the table, Elizabeth looked up expectantly at Rutland as she revealed her hand.

_King of hearts, Queen of hearts, Queen of spades, seven of spades, and seven of diamonds._

"Two pair." She announced, her voice hollow.

Rutland smirked, fanning his own cards upon the table.

_Jack of clubs, Jack of spades, Jack of diamonds, eight of diamonds, eight of spades._

_Jack._

"Full house." He smirked.

Elizabeth's face fell, though she quickly composed herself with a graceful smile.

The watching crowd burst into a frenzy; they themselves had been taking bets on who would win and were now arguing and exchanging winnings amongst themselves.

"My hand was poor this time." Elizabeth sighed.

"Speak for yourself." Capuci muttered into his wine.

"You played excellently, Captain Swann." Rutland replied, shaking hands with Willoughby, Capuci, Adamson and Elizabeth, before sweeping his winnings into his pocket.

"Luck was on my side tonight."

"Luck, be damned. And on what shall you be spending your winnings?"

Elizabeth stood, feeling the weight of her considerably fuller coin purse as it swung against her hip. "Oh, perhaps a wedding band." She smirked, feigning a yawn. She wriggled her bare ring finger in the air. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I must speak with Captain Teague. I've spent enough time playing at cards for one night."

Tossing a coin to the same cabin boy who had lit her cigarette, she cried. "Fetch another barrel of rum from the nearest tavern! And see that Rutland here has first draw of the tap!" Another cheer filled the air.

Teague was watching her, the way in which he leant against the wall, arms folded, watching her, reminding Elizabeth so of his son, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why; Jack rarely stood still long enough to recline in such a way.

"Best I've seen anyone play poker in a long time."

"That last hand wasn't my finest."

"Wisely so." He looked at her pointedly.

"Indeed." She smiled.

He handed her a bottle of rum.

"Ok... Just one more."

* * *

The birds were singing their morning call by the time anyone made it to a bed for the night, or whatever rum-soaked scrap of floor they deemed acceptable enough. With such a hefty weight of coin resting against her thigh, Elizabeth had paced herself, and but for perhaps the slight feeling of walking on clouds, or a steadily rocking ship, she felt perfectly sober, unlike anyone else at the feast that night.

Closing and locking the door of her room - Jack's room - behind her, she untied the coin purse, placing it at once beneath the same loose floorboard beneath which she had kept Will's heart hidden until just hours earlier.

Yes, the air was too silent. She could hear now. Hear what exactly wasn't there to be heard. What wasn't there to wrap her arms around, and press her ear against, and pretend to be her husband. _All_ of her husband.

_Will._

She tugged herself free from her dress, draping it carefully over the back of the chair in the corner of the room, shivering slightly as the cool air caused her skin to prickle with gooseflesh.

Of course, she had done the right thing. She had promised to protect Will's heart, and how could so do so surrounded by drunken, opportunistic pirates? She felt it had been wise to warn the men that she had The Dutchman as her greatest ally (without of course mentioning the slight hiccup of her lack of a means of communicating directly with her husband, did she so desire to do so). Nevertheless, she knew that doing so would also inform them (or those clever enough to realise), that she therefore likely had Will's heart in her possession. No, of course, she couldn't keep it by her side. To do so would be far too great a risk.

If only it wasn't quite so far away.

If only _he_ wasn't so far away _._

Drawing her hand into the folds of her discarded gown, she pulled free a creased playing card, lighting a candle on the desk so that she could see it better. Holding the card close to the flame, she rubbed her thumb against it.

_Jack of hearts._

_Jack._

Placing the card beneath her pillow as well as a dagger, and placing her sword and loaded pistol close to hand, Elizabeth blew out the candle, falling almost immediately into a thick slumber, her dreams overcome by thoughts of _two_ faraway Captains, each battling over her own very fickle, _very_ present heart.


	6. Siren of the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter contains a scene which may be distressing to anyone sensitive to topics of abuse and violence within relationships.
> 
> Apologies for the delay. I'm in the process of moving from France to Greece, and so I haven't had much time to write.
> 
> By the way... Jack's back in chapter seven. I've missed him!

Adventures of Elizabeth Swann

Chapter Six: Siren of the Sea

It took perhaps three weeks before The Empress was fit to venture out into the world again. Shipwreck Cove was teaming with as many craftsmen as it was pirates, and Elizabeth had quickly found herself a team of men to repair the cannon holes which had peppered the stern of the ship, and Sao Feng's cabin - her cabin.

And it was now, for sure, her cabin. Gone was the heavy aroma on incense (the airing from the splintered holes had helped with that), and the heavy, silken Singapore drapes and screens, replaced instead with a decor of her own tastes. In the market square, where pirates haggled for acquired furnishings, linens and fashions pilfered from Spanish galleons and French fleets, she had bartered for a new bed and linen, a dresser, a small gilt mirror, and a simple table and four matching chairs, upholstered with a pale green satin. Light blue curtains framed her newly repaired windows, and a rag rug purchased at Madame Fleury's shop, made from old scraps of fabric, lay snugly upon the floorboards, though she fancied herself a Turkish rug, whenever she might happen upon one. In time, she hoped to also find a comfortable armchair, and perhaps a bookcase, for she had always been a keen reader, but for now, it would do.

Her men, who had witnessed for themselves her excellent night at the poker table, were particularly pleased to see their rum stocks replenished. As she came to know them better, she learnt that her crew were not all from Singapore, with men having found themselves there from all corners of Asia; China, Japan, Malaysia, Thailand, even landlocked Mongolia. She also took on several men from the cove; Englishmen, Scotsmen, Dutchmen, and a few Portuguese. Regardless as to whatever tensions there may be between one nationality and another, aboard a pirate ship, men could live in relative peace together, but for the occasional scuffle over trivial matters. Wanderings souls hearing the call of the sea, there was no need for politics or grudges born by some long-ago war, passed through the generations. And she, their Captain. Born in England, but only there, amongst the aquamarine waves of the Caribbean, did she feel truly at home.

"Excellent." She said, as she made a final check of her ship, her first mate, Tai Huang at her side, nodding in agreement. "Returned to her former glory, I hope, Huang?"

"Aye, Captain."

"And I hope I have gained your approval as Captain by now?"

"Do you require it?"

"What is a Captain without the support of their crew?"

Huang gave her one of his wry, crooked smirks.

"Some of the men think you are Shennü, she of legend, returned to the world." He eyed her for a long second, noting her golden hair and large eyes. "I disagree, but you have her same spirit in regards your people - pirates."

"You'll have to forgive my ignorance, but I am not familiar with the legend of Shennü."

"Shennü has many names. Tianhou, Mazu, Linghui Fei. She was a sea goddess, fierce protecter of all men of the sea - including pirates. She would always assure that they would return safely to land."

Elizabeth groaned inwardly. It was not the first time that she had been compared - or, indeed, mistaken for - a sea goddess. The last time had almost led to her assault at the hands of Sao Feng, had a cannonball not come swiftly to her aid just in that moment.

"I can't say that I see a resemblance - quite the opposite, in fact."

"Some of the men believe that you summoned the maelstrom yourself to rid us of our enemies, and then married the Dutchman's new captain in order to further secure our safety."

At this, she laughed. "I am neither so powerful nor so selfless. The maelstrom was Calypso's doing, I can take no credit for it. As for my marriage, I had been due to marry my husband for some time. Fate delayed us, but I married for no other reason than love."

And fear in the face of danger and near-certain death. Not to mention guilt, regret, longing, loneliness, and a certain, tugging ache...

"As I said, these are not my superstitions."

A commotion from the dock caught their attention, and Elizabeth rushed to the rail to find the cause, her first mate close behind. A broad man, at least six-foot in height, was bending over a figure, completely obscured by his huge shoulders, his bellows and curses informing Elizabeth that his words were being inflicted upon a woman. A woman who had caused him some great offence.

"I'll teach yer, slut!" He screamed, raising his fist. "I've had about enough of yer."

The sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by the low, guttural cry of his victim, was sickening.

Running down the gangplank, Elizabeth pulled her pistol from her belt, cocking it at the back of the man's head. She noted a glint of something catching the sunlight from the corner of her eye, before the object was quickly stashed away beneath a fold of fabric.

"I would step away if I were you." She said, her voice cutting.

With a snigger, the man turned slowly towards her, his great frame still hiding his victim. He had a stern, heavy brow which cast a shadow over deep-set, grey eyes. Much of his face was hidden behind a coarse, dark beard. He raked his eyes over her, his grin widening. Elizabeth couldn't blame his arrogance. She was, after all, just another woman.

"Yer've some balls, bitch." He sneered. "Butting into my business like this."

"If you insist on making your business so public, you can hardly blame me for intervening. And as your King, I have every right to make any public dispute upon this isle my business. Now, step aside." She flicked her gun to the left in indication.

"I don't care whether yer King or not. How I go about disciplining my daughter, ain't nothing to do with yer."

Daughter. Elizabeth was reminded suddenly of her own father, a fresh pang of grief tugging at her gut. To think that any father could treat their daughter so, appalled her.

Taking a step closer, she pressed the gun directly against the man's temple. His hand quivered at the hilt of his sword, but the threat of the gun seemed good enough to keep his temper at bay, and he merely watched, snarling, as Elizabeth clicked her fingers for Huang to disarm the man, taking his pistol, sword, and a dagger from his boot. As her first mate worked with deft fingers, Elizabeth kept her eyes locked upon the man, and only when he was disarmed, did she glance behind him.

With the same grey eyes and heavy brow, the woman was certainly his daughter. Her hand was pressed against her left cheek, dark, curly hair falling in disarray over one side of her face as she watched the scene in awe. From her attire, her torn, soiled, canary yellow dress, heaving, tightly laced bosom and overly-ample application of rouge, she was one of Shipwreck Cove's whores.

"And what crime could possibly deserve a public beating from one's own father?" Her eyes returned to the man before her. She heard the cock of a pistol as Huang also raised his weapon to point at the man.

"She ain't earning her keep."

"Well, marking her face is hardly going to solve such as problem as that, is it?" She spat, turning her eyes to the woman. "What is your name?"

"Anne, Miss."

"Does your father always treat you this way?"

Her hesitant glance at her father's shoulders was all the reply she needed.

"Perhaps you are better suited for another profession. What else can you do?"

Anne simply stared at her, her wide, orb-like eyes seeking the correct response.

"Can you cook?"

"Well enough, Miss."

"Excellent, I'm in need of a cook aboard my ship."

She noted Huang tense from the corner of her eye.

Anne's father too seemed to start at Elizabeth's words, and he whipped his head back towards the pirate King in fury. "What is this?"

"I wish to hire your daughter, Sir." Elizabeth said. "It seems you would prefer to be rid of her, I am offering you a solution which will hopefully make everyone happy."

The man stared at her, dumbfounded. "You wanna give her a job?" He grabbed his daughter, pulling her alongside him and jabbing her sharply in the arm with a rough finger. "Her?!"

"As I said, I need a cook. And she will do well as a maid, too. I'm used to a certain standard of living, whether at sea or upon land."

The man grunted. "How much would yer be willing to pay fer her?"

"Well, a cook aboard my ship will receive a share of any prize taken. But as a maid, I shall pay her as I would within a household, at twenty pounds per annum. I shall pay her first years wages to you now, upfront."

"Twenty pounds? She could be earning that on her back within a month, were she not so hopeless."

"Well if she is so hopeless, or, I imagine, more likely, so disinclined to satisfy men for a living, perhaps it would be more sensible of you to allow her aboard my ship to try her hand at an honest wage elsewhere, no? Besides, Sir, why would you not accept such a fine offer as twenty pounds upfront?"

He pondered this for a moment.

"Have you other children, Sir?"

He grunted that he had not, and Elizabeth could not help but sigh in relief.

"Well then, what do you really need her for at home? She'd be much better with me to make her living, I assure you. And you shall receive a cut of her earnings whenever we are upon land, which, due to my duties as King, will be often enough to keep your coin purse topped up. And I expect to return with great riches, Sir. It is not for nothing that I was made the first King since the first Brethren Court."

His eyes gleamed at the thought of the promised riches. "Say, I do let you have her. I'll be wanting more than twenty pounds fer her. She's tidy, yer see, keeps a place nice, like. And, as she only has the one dress, us being of modest means, like, she knows how to keep fabric nice and last long. She'd take good care of your dresses and the like." It was sickening, the sudden greedy, silken tone to his voice.

Elizabeth moved her gaze to Anne, who was staring at her ground, her expression unreadable.

"Twenty-two pounds, not a penny more, and she comes with me now." Her voice was firm, and Anne's father seemed to sense that there was no negotiating on the matter, because he agreed, somewhat begrudgingly.

Coins were exchanged, and Anne was hurried aboard the boat, apparently having no desire to kiss her father goodbye, whereas he barely noticed her departure, greedily counting the gold in his hand as he hurried assumedly to the nearest tavern.

As Anne climbed the gangway, Elizabeth turned pointedly to her first mate. "Don't worry, Huang. I have no intention of replacing Guan as cook. Nor do I need a maid, for that matter."

"Then, what is it you intend to do with her?" He inquired, smirking quietly.

"We'll see how quickly she takes to the blade and sails. I'll give her a week or two, and if she shows no more talent as a pirate than as a whore, I'll drop her off at the next port, where she can make her own way in the world. Either way, I shall see her away from that brute of a father."

"As you see fit, Captain."

"And she is to be treated with respect, Huang, as one of the men. Which reminds me. We do not embark until every member of the crew has signed my code of agreement. Anyone unhappy with how I intend to run my ship, shall remain here, and find themselves another crew to sail with."

"Yes, Captain."

Anne waited dutifully aboard the deck, ignoring the stares and dropped jaws of the crew.

"To my cabin, Anne. I would speak with you." Elizabeth indicated towards the door at the stern of the ship. As Anne left, she turned her gaze, fire blazing, towards her men.

"You will note, men, that we have a new crew member amongst us. Some of you may be displeased to see another woman aboard, while some of you may be rather too pleased to see such. Let me press one point to you all. She is under my protection. If I hear that anyone has laid a hand on her, I shall personally see that said hand - and any other part of the anatomy which has made contact with her - shall be removed from the body and fed to the sharks, followed by the rest of said person only once they have witnessed said appendage devoured. Is that understood?"

The men nodded, grunting amongst themselves.

Huang smirked. He had stood dumbfounded at the exchange, and couldn't possibly understand why the Captain would step in to save a whore from her father, but in these moments, seeing the fire in Elizabeth's eyes, he could see why his prior Captain had mistaken her for the goddess Calypso, and why she had been the right person to take Sao Feng's place at the helm, as Pirate Lord, even as King.

"Excellent." She turned towards her cabin. "Huang, see the signing of the code. I shall see to our newest crew member."

Closing the door behind her, she found Anne stood in the centre of the room, hands clasped before her, eyes still turned towards the ground.

"Firstly," Elizabeth said, removing her hat, which she hung on the back of the door. "I shall take your blade." She held out her hand expectantly.

Anne's eyes widened as she reached into the folds of her dress, removing a small, wooden-handled kitchen knife. "How did you know?"

Elizabeth took the knife, tucking it into her sash. "I caught a glimpse of it as I pulled my pistol on your father. I've no doubt that you would have gutted him like a fish has I not stepped in, or at least I hope that that's what you intended to do, or else why on earth have I just taken you on as one of my crew?"

"To be your cook and your maid?" Anne asked, perplexed.

"If I replace Guan as cook, there'll be a mutiny. The men are too fond of him. As for a maid, again, it would look bad, and reputation is everything as Captain. And as King." She indicated towards a chair, and they both seated themselves at the table. "No, I am giving you a choice. Either you can stay aboard my ship, and become as much a pirate as the rest of us. Or, if you would prefer, I shall give you a longboat and a false but convincing letter of recommendation as a maid once we reach the next civilised port. It's your choice."

"Why would you give me a choice?"

"Because somehow I doubt you've had many in your short life. How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Twenty this year, Miss."

"And since then has your father had your whoring yourself for a living?" Elizabeth stood, pouring two glasses of brandy, one of which she handed to Anne, while remaining on her feet.

Anne shifted uncomfortably, sipping the drink, her nose wrinkling at the taste.

"Since I was thirteen, Miss."

Elizabeth's eyes widened.

"After so long of servicing the needs of men, would you not rather have a say on your own life? Make your own way in the world?"

"I'd hardly know where to begin, Miss."

"Begin at the beginning." Grabbing a spare pair of breeches and a white shirt from the trunk at the foot of her bed, she tossed them to Anne, who caught them deftly. "Change out of that filthy thing. We'll toss it overboard. Either way, you'll have a few days aboard my ship. No need to make a decision immediately, though while you are here, you shall be treated as any other crew member. No man shall touch you, or demand anything from you, but you will be expected to work, scrubbing decks and the likes. When you have decided where you would rather be, I shall hear you. Equally, if you would rather disembark now and return to your father, I would be sorry for it, but I will not stop you."

Tears pricked Anne's grey eyes, her head shaking in disbelief. "Oh, Miss!"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Freedom shouldn't be considered such a kindness, Anne. While here, you shall refer to me as Captain, or Captain Swann, but if you need relieve yourself of a burden, you may seek my ear, and then you may call me Elizabeth." She nodded towards the clothes, crushed in Anne's hands, pointing towards a door in the corner of the cabin. "Change in the bedroom, there."

Anne hurried into the room, wiping her tears as she went.

As the door to the bedroom clicked closed, Elizabeth sighed, draining her brandy.

Thirteen?!

Reaching into the folds of her shirt, the pulled a parchment from against her breast, where she had kept it every day since her honeymoon. Her marriage certificate. Placing a tender kiss against the parchment, she slipped it into a small drawer, concealed in the side of the table, the key to which being barely an inch long, hanging on a chain around her neck.

\---

"Captain!" The crewmate hiccuped, barging into his Captain's cabin. "A ship's been spotted."

The Captain, a ruddy-faced Irishman by the name of Keeley, peered up from his charts. "Colours?"

"She isn't flying any, Sir."

Keeley leapt to his feet, charts scattered to the ground. "Pirates."

As he arrived at the helm, the Captain snatched a telescope from his first mate.

"It's the Empress, sir." His first mate informed him. "I hear tell their Captain's a woman, Sir."

Keeley scoffed. "A woman? What harm could a woman do?"

"They say she's King, Sir. Of the Brethren."

Looking searchingly at his first mate, Keeley swallowed.

"Ready the guns, Delaney."

"Aye, Sir."

The Captain turned his gaze to the heavens.

"God, deliver us."

\---

She descended from the helm a siren, stepping as lightly as a dancer, a wry smile upon her face, fire burning in her hazel eyes. With her plumed hat and green coat, she looked every inch the Pirate Captain and King that she was, her golden hair billowing behind her in the wind. She was as fierce as she was beautiful.

"Prepare to board!" She screamed, her men scrambling to obey.

Soon, ropes attached her ship to the unsuspecting Merchant vessel, and she stepped nimbly aboard the rail, gripping the rope, the first to swing across. As she landed upon the deck, her weapons at once to hand, a pistol in each, she scanned the deck, smirking at the cowering crew, their swords shaking in their hands.

"Well, well." She said as Huang and a handful of crewmates landed alongside her. "What do we have here, boys?"

Her men sniggered.

"And who may I address as Captain?"

A ruddy-faced man stepped forwards, his face stony, though his eyes betrayed his fear.

"That'll be me, Ma'am."

"And your name is?" She asked, her pistol pointed at his brow, while her men aimed their weapons, a collection of pistols and cutlasses, at the man's crew.

"Keeley."

"Captain Keeley. Good name." Elizabeth smirked. "Now, Mr. Keeley. I'm a reasonable woman. I don't agree with violence for the sake of violence. My men and I are here to empty to contents of your hold and take them aboard my ship there. If you stay quiet and let us take what we please, we shall let you and your men go without little more than a scratch or two here and there. Otherwise, you will leave me with no choice but to fire this bullet through your brains and cut your men down. One. By. One. Now, what will it be?"

Before Keeley could respond, a man to his left pulled his sword from his belt, swinging it wildly at Elizabeth.

"Bitch!" He cried.

Spinning, Elizabeth shot the man through the left side of his chest, her second pistol pressing firm against Keeley's brow, as he watched helplessly as the man slumped to the ground, quite dead.

The rest of the crew fidgeted but did not move.

"What will it be, Mr. Keeley?"

Keeley's eyes burned into hers.

"Very well."

With a smile of triumph, she nodded curtly to her crew, more of whom had made the crossing to the merchant ship, and her men - Anne amongst them - busied themselves in tying the men in a circle around the mast, while others hurried into the belly of the ship to remove it of its cargo. All the while, Elizabeth's pistol remained pointed at Keeley, whose gaze did not leave hers.

At last, he dared speak. "Might I at least know the name of this she-wolf before me?" He spat.

"Swann." Elizabeth said. "Captain Elizabeth Swann. King of the Brethren Court, and Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea."

Crouching down alongside him, she returned her pistol to her sash, pulling instead a knife, which she held to the underside of his chin. "And you shall remember my name, Sir, and remember how it was a woman who attacked your ship this day." She glanced at the corpse of the shot crew member, who lay in a pool of his blood to her left. "Almost without firing a single shot."


	7. A Lost Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovelies... Jack's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in updating this story, first of all. Anyone who has read the intro notes of my previous chapters will know that I was supposed to have moved from Paris to Athens in mid-March, and right now I'm supposed to be sailing in the Med, but obviously the current pandemic and lockdown threw me a major curveball, so things have been pretty hectic and crazy. Instead, I took one of the last Eurostars our of Paris to the UK (my home country), and had to quickly find an Airbnb and a new work-from-home job to replace the apartment and job that I'd just quit in Paris, days before the lockdown began... bad timing for a major life change, it turns out!
> 
> But, anyway, Jack is back!
> 
> Stay safe, lovelies x

**Adventures of Elizabeth Swann:**

**Chapter 7: A Lost Bird**

For four days, he had been stuck in his spit of a boat, his damn compass apparently sending him around and around in circles. The Fountain of Youth was what he wanted most in this world. Wasn't it? After four days beneath the scorching Caribbean sun, Jack had drifted to the brink of delirium. To the brink of the locker, or, rather, all that the locker had unlocked.

Resting his head back against the wooden bench of the dingy, he watched as spots of light danced red against his closed eyelids. Spots, with faces. Or, some such nonsense. Neither here nor there.

"Mmm... peanut."

_Maddening, isn't it?_

"Ay?"

_So close, Jackie, boy. Always so close._

_S'wot's the point in gettin' close, when fate always snatches whatever it is yer be wantin' out of yer grasp, just at the... opportune moment?_

"Go away."

_Not without you, Jackie._

_We can't be goin' anywhere without you, Cap'n._

He grunted to himself, feeling the sway of the boat beneath him.

_You're a good man._

_Hasn't life taught yer by now not t' be so trustin', Jackie?_

_'Im run afoul of that which vex all men._

"Oh, bugger off."

_Afoul, alright. Someone sniggered. Afoul, afoul, afoul._

_If you have something to say, I might be saying something as well._

"First to the... finish?"

_Aye, that be it. And who be that, Jack?_

_You really were telling the truth._

_I'm not sorry._

_I keep the promises I make, Jack._

"Whelp."

_Not about living forever, Jackie._

_I'm not sorry. Don't you see?_

"Stop it."

_Jack. You're going to want to know-_

"Enough."

_Captain Sparrow._

"Shut it."

_I'm not sorry._

"Stop!"

_Jack._

"Enough!"

* * *

"Captain?" Huang said as he entered Elizabeth's cabin, finding her deep in thought as she studied her charts.

"Yes?"

"You should come, Captain."

She glanced up, eyeing her first mate curiously.

"Well? What is it?"

Huang smirked. "Come, Captain. There is something of interest sighted off the port side."

He turned on his heel, gone, and, with a huff, was soon followed by his captain, who paused only long enough to place her hat upon her head. She could finally understand Jack's attachment to his own. She had come to feel incomplete without it.

As she arrived on deck, she observed as the majority of her crew peered out to view the mysterious sight, many sniggering, some looking rather bemused.

"Huang, what could possibly-" Her jaw dropped as she joined them, peering over the rail.

They were miles from land, the nearest port easily a few days away, and yet there, bobbing by the hull of the Empress, was a tiny dinghy, catching the breeze in a scrap of a black sail. And there, concealed in the boat, lay the only man who would be foolish enough to attempt such a voyage in such an unsuitable vessel: Captain Jack Sparrow. Scorched red from the heat, his head rested against the bench, an empty bottle of rum tucked under his arm.

"Cast a line! Bring him aboard and take him straight to my cabin! Make him comfortable. Anne!" She turned to her newest crew member, who had been watching the strange sight alongside everyone else. "He will need a doctor."

Anne nodded, disappearing below deck to fetch supplies.

Please be alive, Jack. She sent a silent prayer up to a deity who no doubt had long since turned his back on both of their souls. Stay alive. Stay with me.

"The boat, Captain?" Huang asked.

"Bring it aboard."

Jack was carried carefully aboard, and as she reached the deck, Elizabeth gasped to see his skin blistered, his cheeks hollowed. She didn't dare touch him, couldn't bring herself to do so, instead waving her arms towards her cabin, following close at heel.

"Fetch water, linen, and rum. Plenty of rum. Have Razif make a balm for his burns." They laid him out on the bed, and she immediately removed his boots, hat and pulled his arms gently from his coat, though she was not strong enough not to remove it from beneath him, and had to ask three of her men to aid her. As they removed his coat, she noted a peculiar bulge in one of the pockets.

"I'll take that." She said hastily, taking the coat from them, folding it protectively over her arm. "Thank you, men. He will need a change of clothes. Somebody fetch some."

Crew members hurried in every direction to meet her demands, piling bottles and potions onto the table and scattering piles of fabric around of the main room of her cabin. The chef arrived with a large bowl of boiled water, which he placed too on the table. All the while, Elizabeth did little but stand at the foot of the bed, staring at the sleeping (please, let him be only sleeping) form of the Captain of the Black Pearl.

"Thank you." She said as the chef departed, closing the door behind him.

Knowing she had just a brief moment alone with Jack before Anne returned with her medical supplies, Elizabeth moved quickly. Dropping the coat at the foot of the bed, she rested on hand on either side of Jack's head, still strangely unwilling to touch him. Turning her head, she brought her ear close to his lips, pleading silently for the feel of his breath against her skin, or to hear a sigh of his lungs fighting for life.

"Please, Jack." She begged, a sob catching in her throat. He could have been made of wax, however; no discernible breath escaped from his lips. No sign of life.

Straightening herself, she brought two fingers to hover above the left side of his neck, willing herself to feel for a pulse. How would his flesh feel, to the touch? Would he be as cold as ice, or would the scorching heat of the sun retain enough heat in his bones to feign life? Would his body have stiffened? Would his flesh be supple to the touch? She thought suddenly of one prior time when her fingertips had run along the soft flesh of his neck, a shudder running through her. It had been then. When she had kissed him, chaining him to the mast of his beloved ship. She had placed her hands first on his upper arms as she guided him back, towards the mast, towards the shackle with which she would condemn him. She had intended to keep her hands firmly on his arms, and yet had found herself running her fingers along the muscular curve of his shoulders, feeling the solid, wiry muscle formed from years of sailing. As though she was mapping his body in her mind, exploring what little of him she could, for her own memory. Her hands, as though working with a mind of their own, had moved upwards, her fingertips grazing the curve of his neck, almost feminine in their delicate curve, before entangling in the knotted mass of his hair, clinging to him. While her mind had been so decided on condemning him, her body; her lips, her hands, the tips of her fingers, silently pleaded with him not to leave her. Never to leave her.

And once again, as she placed her shaking fingers upon his neck, in search of a pulse, her body - and her mind - begged him never to leave her.

"Please, Jack."

A painfully pregnant moment passed as she listened, holding her own breath as she felt for his. At last, a faint, but the definite throb of a heartbeat pushed against her fingers.

I'm here. It seemed to say. I'm not going anywhere, love.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Elizabeth withdrew her fingers as though she had been caught doing something inappropriate. His flesh was indeed hot. Hot from days spent unprotected beneath the Caribbean heat. Glancing down, she noticed the criss-cross array of belts that Jack habitually worn, and there, resting against his thigh, was his compass, hanging from a string attached to one of the belts. Pausing for only a moment, she pulled the cord free, before attaching it to her own belt.

Just keeping it safe, Jack.

Turning her attention back to the coat at the foot of the bed, she dashed to the corner of the room, dominated by a large, rather grand Spanish wardrobe; acquired from a galleon during a recent raid.

Pulling open the doors of her wardrobe, she hastily hung Jack's coat on a hook, plunging her hand into the right pocket. Her fingers immediately brushed against something coiled. Pulling the item free, she recognised it at once; the charts from Singapore, As she unravelled it, she couldn't help but admire the artistry that had gone into creating the charts. She glanced at Jack's scorched, strangely peaceful looking face curiously. This would lead Jack to the fountain of youth.

"You need to wake up, Jack. You haven't finished this venture yet."

The sound of the door to her cabin opening alerted her.

"Captain?" Anne called from the other room.

Elizabeth rolled the map hastily, shoving it roughly into the depths of her wardrobe. Temporarily.

"Yes, Anne, come in." She called in response, closing the wardrobe doors and returning to Jack's side.

Anne entered the bedroom sheepishly, her arms laden with cloth and herbs. A young, redheaded lad of barely fourteen followed close at her heels, lingering in the doorway, two large bottles of rum in hand, a fresh shirt, and breeches (or as fresh as could be found aboard), draped over his arm.

"Thank you, Milton." Elizabeth said, taking the items from him. "Leave us, now. Anne, did Razif prepare a balm, as I asked?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good, first we need hot water - there's some in the other room, I believe - and clean linens."

Anne fetched the items accordingly, placing them on the bedside table.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Elizabeth placed a hand on either side of his chest, leaning over him until her face hovered above his. "Jack? Can you hear me, Jack?"

"Is he breathing, Captain?" Anne asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "I felt a pulse, but it was faint."

Once again, she placed two fingers against his throat, willing his pulse to beat again against her fingertips. This time, however, none came.

"I can't feel it anymore." She said, her voice little more than a whisper. She placed the flat of her hand against his neck, his toned flesh damp with sweat. "His pulse... I can't."

"Two fingers are better, Captain. Just here." Anne demonstrated against her own neck, touching directly beneath her jaw and Elizabeth mimicked the action on Jack, moving her fingers higher than their previous position.

She waited a long moment, the silence of the room unbearable as she waited.

"I can't feel anything."

"He might be dead." Anne said, her tone somewhat dismissive. She had sailed upon the Empress for hardly one month, but already she had hardened herself to death and destruction, having witnessed - and participated in - several raids on merchant ships.

"No." Elizabeth muttered, a sob escaping her, noticed at once by Anne.

"Captain?"

"Jack." Elizabeth brought her lips close to his ear, placing her hand flat against his chest. "Jack. Wake up."

"Captain."

"Leave us. Wait outside the door."

"But-"

"I said leave us!" Elizabeth screamed, grabbing an empty water jug from the bedside table. Launching it behind her, it crashed against the wall, a shard of porcelain slicing Anne's breeches just above the knee.

Anne fell silent, her gaze turning sour, and then softening into confusion as she watched the curious display of emotion. Elizabeth had proven herself to be a fiery, ferocious captain, and Anne had never seen even a moment's weakness or hesitation on her part. And yet now, she crouched over the unconscious man - whom her captain clearly knew - as protectively as a lioness, her eyes burning unapologetically into Anne's.

"I'll be in the other room." Anne said quietly, removing herself from the strange scene.

Listening until she heard the click of the door closing, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the pirate before her. "Jack." She shook his shoulders gently. "Jack, please. Please."

Nothing.

"Damn it, Jack. I felt your pulse. Just now! I felt it." Placing her fingers against his neck, she once again held her breath, closing her eyes. Please, Jack. Stay. If you're already left, come back, God damn it. Come back to me.

Nothing.

Shaking his shoulders once more, a rage boiled in her gut. "Damn you, Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow, the great Captain Jack Sparrow. You can't die like this - dried out in the sun in that pathetic little dingy. Where is your ship, Captain? Where is the Pearl?" She slammed the palm of her hand against his chest, hearing the dull thud of flesh upon flesh. "What a sad-" thud "-pathetic-" thud "-disappointing way for a legend such as yourself to die. And if you think-" thud "-that I'm going to-" thud "-be wasting my time trying to repair the damage-" thud "-to the story that you have spent decades creating-" thud "-once word gets out as to how you died, think again-" thud "-and word will get out, Jack. Do you think-" thud "-that this won't be all my crew talk-" thud "-about next time they set foot on land? Do you think I'll try and stop them out of -" thud "-loyalty to you? No, Jack,-" thud "-I won't bloody try to keep them quiet! In fact-" thud "-I'll join them! I'll stand on the tabletops and scream to the whole world-" thud "- about how such a disappointing death-" thud "-ended the legend of the great-" thud "-Captain Jack Sparrow!" She fired a series of slaps into his chest, howling with rage as she did so. "Damn you, Jack!"

Exhausted from her outburst, she sank back against the foot of the bed, her rage dissolving as rapidly as it had emerged, replaced by sobs, as she buried her head in her hands.

"Jack." She whispered, her voice shaking as she used the cuff of her shirt to dab at the tears staining her cheeks.

As her sobs fell silent, a faint whistling noise caught her attention, so quiet, she could barely be sure that it was real. Turning her head slowly to face Jack, she puzzled at the noise. Inching closer, supporting herself with both hands on either side of his body, she realised that the whistling noise was coming from him.

"Jack?" Bringing her face closer, she turned her ear towards his lips once more. The whistle was emanating from his throat. While his chapped lips were slightly parted, he made no movement, yet... yes, the straight, faint whistle was undoubtedly coming from him.

As she leant closer, her hand instinctively reached towards his chest, and she placed her palm flat over his heart in order to steady herself.

Just as she did so, he gave a sharp, brief intake of breath.

Elizabeth flew backwards, almost falling off the bed with her shock as she let out a gasp.

He appeared not to hear, but as the whistle was replaced with short, steady breaths, Elizabeth flew towards the door, a piece of the broken water jug crunching beneath her boot as she grabbed the door handle.

As she opened the door, a gust of air blew her hat behind her, where it fell, instantly forgotten, upon the floor.

"Anne! Anne! Come quickly."

The woman followed, having been pacing uncomfortably before the great windows that dominated the stern of the ship.

"He's breathing! Quickly. Call for someone to boil some fresh water. Quick, now!" Elizabeth pulled the cork from the bottle of rum, and, supporting Jack's head with one hand, she poured the drink, little by little, down his throat. "And some drinking water."

"Yes, Captain." Anne replied curtly, turning on her heel.

While most of the golden liquid did pool in his mouth and run down his chin, she was relieved to see that Jack did respond well enough as to drink, choking slightly. His eyes, however, remained closed.

"Wake up, Jack." She pleaded, dipping a clean length of linen in the water bowl on the side table - which had now cooled considerably. Wringing out the dripping fabric, she dabbed his blistered cheek. Discarding the linen back into the water, she gently reached behind Jack's head, untying his soiled bandana. Jack's brow, while sodden with sweat, was untouched by the sun, and there was a distinctive line between the sunburnt flesh of his cheeks and nose and the comparatively white pallor of his olive brow. Elizabeth couldn't help but stare at the untouched flesh, as though she was staring at the real Jack, rather than the persona of Captain Jack Sparrow. As her golden eyes traced his flesh, she noticed that his hairline appeared patchy in places, perhaps from years of carrying the weight of his dreadlocks, tugging against his scalp.

She threw the bandana dismissively across the room.

"Here, Captain." Anne said as she returned, once again with the same lad, Milton, who had accompanied her before. While she carried a jug of cool drinking water from the hold, Milton held another bowl of freshly boiled water.

"Set them down on the ground. Thank you, Milton, you may go." Grabbing a tin cup from the sideboard, Elizabeth poured a little of the drinking water into Jack's mouth. Once again, he was able to respond enough to drink, though he did not stir.

"We have to clean his wounds. He is covered in blisters." Elizabeth instructed.

The two women worked quickly, slicing his shirt from him with a knife. The fabric clung to ruptured, weeping blisters, and Elizabeth winced as she peeled the linen away, glancing constantly at his face. But he made no response to her actions.

"What about his breeches, Captain?" Anne asked.

Elizabeth hesitated a moment. "They would have protected his legs from the sun. Admittedly, he could do with a bath, but we'll let him wake up and bathe himself, shall we?"

"Probably best." Anne smirked.

As they worked, dabbing his burns with aloe vera and dressing the more substantial wounds in Razif's balm (a concoction of his own creation, the recipe for which he refused to divulge) and bandages of clean linen, the silence grew with unanswered questions, and Elizabeth could feel Anne's eyes burning into her.

"If you have something to say, Anne, I'd prefer if you just say it., rather than my feeling your eyes bore their way into my skull." Elizabeth said, at last, refusing to meet her crew member's gaze as she carefully dabbed aloe vera on Jack's arm.

Despite the consent, Anne hesitated, wondering how to proceed.

"I... Forgive me, Captain, it's none of my business."

"You are wondering how I know this man?" Elizabeth turned, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. As she had dressed Jack's wounds, she had wondered to herself as to how foolish her reaction to seeing his lifeless form would prove. As Captain, she was supposed to be unflappable, untouchable. And yet the sight of Jack in that dingy, and on seeing his red, cracked flesh as he was brought abroad, had broken had facade. And to have instructed that he be brought to her cabin, of all places. Then again, where else would he be tended to, but there? The crewmen's quarters? The first mate's cabin (she was sure that Huang would not have appreciated that). The brig?

Anne did not respond, her steady gaze, grey eyes locked on Elizabeth's, proving to be answer enough.

"This man is the infamous," Elizabeth smirked as she spoke the word, knowing that Jack would expect to be described as no less than such, "Captain Jack Sparrow, of the Black Pearl."

Anne's eyes widened slightly, and it occurred to Elizabeth, with a strange jolt in her stomach, that, as a resident of Shipwreck Cove, Anne may well have heard of the infamous Captain Sparrow. In fact, given her previous profession - as one of the Cove's whores, a profession into which her father had forced her - there was a possibility that she knew Jack very well, indeed. The thought didn't sit well with Elizabeth, and she suddenly wanted Anne out of her sight, were it not for the fact that she knew full well how her crew would respond were their Captain to be left alone with Jack. As if they didn't have enough to gossip about amongst themselves, regarding their captain.

"You've heard of him?"

Anne nodded. "Everyone in the Caribbean has heard the tales, I dare say." Her gaze fixed on Jack's face, her head tilting slightly as she examined him. "He's not as I imagined."

Elizabeth laughed. "I dare say that's everyone's reaction to meeting him. He wasn't as I'd imagined him to be when I met him, either."

"How did you meet him?"

Elizabeth paused, wondering which version of the tale to tell. The one in which Jack saved her life? The one in which Captain Jack held her hostage in order to procure his own escape? And what of her portrayal of herself? Would it do her reputation as Captain any good to admit that she had once been so naive? So... silly? The spoilt daughter of the Governor of Jamaica, dreaming of a life she couldn't possibly begin to understand.

"It was a long time ago. I was a part of his crew, before gaining a ship of my own." She smiled, taking the pot of the Razif's balm from the counter, scooping some onto the tip of her finger. Passing the pot to Anne, who had found a particularly nasty blister on Jack's right wrist, she dabbed the mixture gently onto his flesh, glancing constantly at Jack's face as she searched for a reaction to her touch. "Captain Sparrow is the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea. He was also instrumental, during the last gathering of the Brethren Court, in my acquiring the position of King. For purely strategical reasons, of course. We fought alongside each other during the Battle of the Maelstrom. I trust Huang and the crew who were there have told you of that particular tale?"

"It is a popular one for them to tell, yes."

"It is quite the thrilling tale." Elizabeth smiled, suddenly reminded of the thrill she would feel when reading of such great adventures in books as a child. Would her own adventures be one day portrayed in books, devoured by adventurous young children, read beneath the bedsheets in their cloistered lives? Would she feature in these books, as infamous as Captain Jack? And what of Will? Would his tales be told through the ages, as Davy Jones' before him? Or would people, in time, forget of the Dutchman's new Captain? Forget that a replacement - a sacrifice - had even happened. Would they all be forgotten, in time?

"I wonder what happened, for him to end up in that dingy, Captain. Mutiny?"

Elizabeth didn't reply. She had an idea as to what - or, rather, who - had taken Jack's Pearl from him.

* * *

Colours swirled behind his eyes. Great, dancing dots of red, green and blue, flickering this way and that. Rolling his eyes around behind his eyelids, he chased the colours, but their movements were impossibly to predict. Impossible to catch.

_Jack._

God, even in death, would he never rid himself of her voice?

_Jack._

_The rum is gone._

_By and by._

_Why is the rum gone?_

_There be none left at all._

Jack.

_Don't you see?_

_I may have had, briefly..._

_Are you loathed to claim it as your own?_

_Jack._

_Thinking of running, Jack?_

"Jack."

His eyes swivelled once more behind his eyelids.

_Captain Swann._

"Wake up, Jack."

_Lizzie?_

"Jack."

_We're not back._

Something brushed his shoulder, and he flinched instinctively. It burned. In fact, everything burned.

Is this hell? This must be hell. Hot, as they said. What was it Dante said, exactly? Must compare.

"Open your eyes, Jack?"

Why would she be in his hell? Sent to torment him? Siren of the seas.

"Jack, can you hear me?"

"Aye."

"Anne. I think he's waking up. Pass me the rum."

_Rum. Rum's good._

Someone placed their hand beneath his head, supporting him, and a moment later, that sweet, golden liquid reached his lips, and he drank greedily at what little there was.

More rum.

"More."

Of course, his version of hell would consist of burning flesh, his eyes sealed shut, and her, of all people, out of sight, yet taunting him with her voice while granting him rum by the droplet. Never enough. Just enough to torment him. Of course, this would be his hell.

But, no, he had been in hell before. Or... was hell-hell different to locker-hell?

"Try and open your eyes, Jack. Look at me."

Can't, Lizzie, Can't. Everything just felt so heavy.

"Anne, leave us. Jack."

_Aye?_

"Please try, Jack."

Sighing internally, Jack concentrated all of his efforts on the task at hand. He ached and hurt all over, his body barely feeling like his own. Even as a young cabin boy, when the rigours of crew work had torn and bruised his unprepared muscles anew each day, he had never felt as sore and beaten as he did now.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open, wincing as the sunlight sent a sharp jolt of pain directly through his skull, like a pickaxe.

"Jack?"

Allowing his eyes time to adjust, he squinted at the face, inches from his own. Golden hair framed a deeply tanned face, two damp, honey-brown eyes gazing down at him.

"Captain Swann." His voice was little more than a guttural croak, yet still laden with his usual charm.

Elizabeth gave him more to drink - water, to his disappointment.

"How are you feeling?"

Jack scrunched his face, wincing again in pain. "Parched for rum."

"It's water that you need, Jack. And rest."

"You woke me, love."

Elizabeth smiled. "True. I'll let you rest again."

"No," He waved a hand vaguely in her direction, raising it no more than a few inches off the bed. "S'alright. Stay. 'Sides, I've got questions."

"You're still very weak, Jack."

"Weak?" A single chuckle ripped from his throat, and his grimaced. "S'not a word t' describe Captain Jack Sparrow, love."

"Nor is the term 'cooked beneath the sun like a roast pig'." Elizabeth dipped a piece of linen into the water, dabbing at Jack's forehead.

'Ye'd be surprised, love."

"Hmm, no, I've heard all about your bizarre encounters with sea turtles while delirious from the heat."

"Good story."

"Some would say."

Jack smirked, the small pull of the corner of his mouth being the most he could muster at present.

"As for your questions. Let me deduce what they might be." She said, dipping the linen again as she continued to carefully dab at Jack's flesh with cool water. While she craved a conversation with him, she was unwilling to allow him to strain his voice - what little was left of it. "You are aboard my ship, after we found you drifting, unconscious, off the coast of the Inagua isles. Quite far off the coast, in fact. You were badly sunburnt and near dead for lack of food and drink for God-knows how long, and so now you are in my cabin, where myself and a crew member of mine have been nursing you for two days now."

At the word 'cabin', Jack's brows had shot up towards his hairline. He was in her cabin? Elizabeth's cabin? So much for not making enemies with the new Captain of the Dutchman. He cast a wary eye down, noting his naked torso. A loose bedsheet had been draped over him from the waist, but from a brief wiggle of his hips, he was quite sure that he was still clothed from there down.

"We tended to your wounds - you have some nasty burns, Jack. As for your dingy, we brought it aboard. Not that I think you should be sailing off into the distance in that thing again. And," She paused, watching Jack's expression curiously. "Sao Feng's charts are in my safekeeping. Didn't want to leave them lying around. Not that I don't trust my crew but... they are pirates."

Jack's eyes narrowed, darting for a moment around the room, in thought. "I thank yer, love."

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes flicking back to his. A cloud crossed her expression, her eyes glazing as she allowed her thoughts to consume her. "I thought you were dead, Jack."

"Aye, near was."

For a moment, they said nothing, both lost in their thoughts, and both allowing each other that loss.

"As for your great tale as to how you came to be unconscious in that scrap of driftwood, I'll let you tell me once you have your strength back." Once again, she stood to leave, and once again Jack's hand shot towards her, stilling her. She paused at his side.

"Barbossa." Jack croaked, his eyes staring at the far wall, coal-black with rage. Despite his burns, his cracked flesh, the absurd line between his pale brow and his brown cheeks, his patchy hairline, none of these flaws had the strength to diminish his furious beauty, only enhanced by the set of his jaw and his flaming eyes.

Elizabeth couldn't help but note that Jack was still touching her, his fingers loosely curled against the back of her hand as he spoke.

"Jack," She sighed, staring down at him. "I remember a time not so long ago when you were offended that I'd even suggest that a certain 'stinking codpiece' could make off with your ship again... and yet."

His eyes flickered to hers, the smouldering fury instantly replaced by something else, something teasing and familiar.

"Mocking me, love?"

"Someone has to."

He smiled, raking his eyes over her.

"Yer look like a Captain, Lizabeth. Ye've become yerself."

Elizabeth looked down at herself disdainfully. Despite her sudden duties towards Jack, to tend to his needs and care for him, her duties as Captain would of course always remain, and so, every moment she could spare, she would retreat to her cabin, throwing her coat and hat upon the table, rolling up her sleeves, and tying up her hair with a piece of spare ribbon, shedding herself at once of her identity as Captain, and simply becoming Elizabeth. And, in that moment, she was once again just Elizabeth. Needless to say, this was not how she had imagined Jack's first impression of her when they would next meet again, on witnessing her complete transformation, to Captain, Lord, and King. Pirate. Instead, she had imagined his shock and surprise at seeing her, perhaps standing atop the steps to the poop deck, pistol in hand, blazing golden eyes just visible beneath the brim of her tricorn hat, ostrich feathers blowing in the breeze as hair fell against the lapels of her green coat.

"Hardly right now, Jack."

"Just need a hat, Lizzie. Not much of a Captain without a hat, love."

"Ah, but wait." Smiling, Elizabeth retreated into the main room of her cabin, retrieving her green coat and her ostrich-plumed tricorn from its abandoned place on the table. Pausing to pull on her coat (taking care to tuck Jack's compass, which was hanging from her belt, out of sight; she was reluctant to return it just yet), she marched back into the room, perching her hat atop her head with an elaborate flourish.

"There she is! Captain Lizzie Swann." Jack smiled approvingly. "The infamous."


	8. Chapter 8: Welcome to the crew, former Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jack recovers, Elizabeth and he negotiate the terms of the remains of his stay aboard the Empress.

**Chapter 8: Welcome to the crew, former Captain**

It took the best part of a week for Jack to recover well enough to venture onto the deck for some air, during which time, Elizabeth took Huang's cabin, relegating him to a hammock with the rest of the crew. It was an arrangement which, sure enough, hr first mate was not best pleased about. She too would have much preferred to remain in her own cabin, of course, and would have settled for placing a cot beneath the large, back windows of the main room, either for herself or, was he well enough to be moved, Jack. She had decided, however, that doing so would have been a guaranteed way to stir only more gossip amongst her crewmates about the nature of her relationship with 'the Sparrow', as they referred to him.

Sure enough, she had heard enough whispers already, as she had feared she would. Whispers about her shocked reaction as she had caught sight of him in his dingy, her haste to bring him to safety, and her insistence in nursing him back to health herself. Whispers about what sort of attachment would cause such a response in such a pirate as she; their King.

In order to rectify their opinion of her and prevent a mutiny, she had had to make it up to the crew by displaying the very best of her abilities as Captain. Fortune had been on her side, it seemed, with three raids of Spanish ships in a single day, the plundering of which had resulted - thankfully - in a great upon the deck of the Empress. All three ships had been laden with riches, and she often caught flashes of sunlight catching on diamonds and precious gemstones, as her crew insisted on braiding their earnings in their hair and into the fabrics of their garments, as a child would play dress up. It was as though they had never seen shiny before. From this, she deduced that she was forgiven for her 'feminine failings'. For only a woman, they reasoned, would insist on trying to save Sparrow's life, rather than leaving him to the inevitable, and allowed the sea to take him, as ought be the case, for all pirates.

Jack had woken several times in a state of confusion as to his surroundings. Each time, his eyes roamed, wide, around Elizabeth's bedroom, swiftly concluding that he was more definitely not in his own cabin, in his beloved Pearl.

One such time, two days after his rescue, Elizabeth had happened to enter the room with a bowl of broth for her patient just when said patient had been groggily trying to recall as to whose bed he had woken in, and just where he had been drinking the previous night in order to find himself in such a state. Needless to say, on seeing Elizabeth enter the room, his eyes had near popped out of his head with confusion. Pausing with the bowl in hand, Elizabeth had cocked a brow at Jack's strange hand gestures, as he waved vaguely towards her, and then himself.

"We... we... ahem... did we...?" His eyes continued to roll around his head as he took in the eclectic decor, before settling once more on Elizabeth, his gaze raking over her slender figure.

Elizabeth followed his gaze, glancing down at herself. "What? No!" Slamming the broth down on the table next to the bed, much of the liquid sloshing over her hands. "We most _certainly_ did not."

His brow furrowed, Jack continued to search the room silently for answers.

"Jack. You don't remember how you came to be upon my ship?"

Pursing his lips, he gave the tiniest shake of his head, as though reluctant to confess so.

"You were adrift at sea." She explained patiently once more, perching on the edge of the bed and leaning over him so that his roaming gaze was forced to focus upon her. "We brought you aboard. And just in time, it seems. The heat of the sun and thirst near killed you, Jack. You fool."

He gave no response, simply staring at her, his brow heavy. She had not replaced his bandana, and his burnt, red skin had faded into a deep chestnut tan, but for the most serious, blistered burns on his nose and cheekbones, which were still pink with raw flesh. The result was an even greater contrast between his deep tan and the untouched, comparatively pale flesh of his brow. Were he not so pitiable, he would be comical to behold.

Thrice more he had forgotten how he had come to be upon the Empress, and thrice more he had asked, mostly through awkward points and gestures, as to whether anything had happened between Elizabeth and himself. By the fourth day since having found him, Elizabeth's concern was growing as she began to ponder whether his memory would be forever affected by his ordeal and whether that sharp, brilliant mind of his would ever be quite the same again.

By the following evening, however, he had improved dramatically, and though he had little memory of the days spent in the dinghy, or of the first days spent upon the Empress, he seemed to be gradually regaining his strength, and even ventured to tease Elizabeth, patting the soft sheets in a mocking attempt at alluring her to his side.

"Clearly you're feeling much better." Elizabeth had rolled her eyes. "Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my crew." With a sharp turn on her heel, she shut the door smartly behind her, pressing herself against the wood as she urged her pounding heart to still.

 _I miss my husband. She told herself._ That's all. _I just miss the touch of a man - my husband._

* * *

A slither of sunlight, creeping into the room from a gap between the draped curtains, just happened to fall just so across Jack's eyes, rousing him from his light slumber. Sitting up uneasily, he surveyed his surroundings.

 _Still here._ He thought to himself, for every time he woke, he was still quite convinced that he was dreaming. He glanced warily to the empty space in the bed alongside him. _Alone._

Rubbing the base of his palm against his throbbing brow, he pushed himself further into a seated position, resting his sore back against the headrest. Thankfully, many of his blisters had healed well enough, and his burns had receded to a deep, chestnut tan. Glancing at his reflection in a mirror, which Eloise kept above her dresser, he groaned inwardly.

 _Not good._ He sighed. It had been many months - no, years, even - since he had fully caught sight of his own reflection, besides for when he applied kohl using a slither of broken mirror, in which he could only ever see a single eye at a time. He really had no need to see himself otherwise. Yet now, as he took in his scabbed and scarred blisters, his deep tan, with its remaining, underlying red hue, his alarmingly pale brow ( _not good, definitely not good_ ) and the loss of his beloved bandana, he definitely did not like what he saw. Not to mention, he had clearly lost several pounds during the past ten days or so, and was looking decidedly gaunt, and unhealthy. His kohl, which, oddly Elizabeth had opted not to remove, had smudged as far as his cheekbones, and as high as each eyebrow. Using a corner of the bedsheet to wipe away the excess smudges.

He gripped the edge of the bed as he stood, his legs wobbling dangerously beneath him.

_Not good._

Only once he was certain that he would not fall, Jack made his way unsteadily towards the dresser, her fingers twitching as his curiosity overcame him. This was Elizabeth's cabin. What sort of trinkets would a pirate King, daughter of a governor, keep on her ship? Opening each drawer, he plucked at rings and bracelets, necklaces and brooches, all acquired during various raids. Picking up a particularly ornate ruby ring, he tried it on each of his fingers in turn. It fit his little finger perfectly. Surely, therefore, it was much too big for any of Elizabeth's slender digits. No no, much better if he were to keep it for himself.

Finding his bandana in the lower drawer, he returned it hastily to his brow, noting that, oddly, someone had attempted to wash it in seawater. Glancing again at himself in the mirror, he shuddered. The past few weeks had taken a few weeks from him, of that, he could be sure.

Satisfied that he had found everything of interest in the dresser, nor in the large, ornate wardrobe in the corner of the room, he scanned the room searchingly. It was sparsely furnished, and while nothing quite matched, Elizabeth had clearly taken great care and consideration in selecting each item of furniture. The bed dominated the space, tucked beneath the windows, which she had framed with blue, silken curtains. The bedding, he had noticed, was of the highest quality, and had no doubt been acquired from a grand ship, and the dresser was of the French style, while the gilt mirror above it was most definitely Spanish. Yes, this was most definitely Elizabeth's cabin.

The room was kept in good order, but for a haphazardly stacked pile of books alongside the bed. These were, Jack noted, a mix of novels (including, he smirked, several adventurous tales), as well as books on anatomy, philosophy, and botany. Many had corners folded down, or scraps of fabric or paper placed within them to mark certain pages. Near the top of the pile, one particular book caught Jack's eye: A General History of the Pyrates: Volume II. Plucking the book, which was considerably more well-worn than the rest, he opened it curiously. Resting against the edge of the bed as he did so. More curiously still, was the page upon which the book naturally fell when opened.

Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl

Pyrate Lord of the Caribbean

"S'nothing like me at all." He tutted at the illustration accompanying his profile. They'd made him look... fierce. Fierce was all well and good, yes, but from the wild mane of curls, the wild, bloodshot eyes, and the solid, broad-shouldered figure, clearly, this depiction had been created by someone who had never had the misfortune - or great pleasure - to come across the infamous Captain Sparrow in person. Skimming the page, he chuckled to himself at the litany of errors, while smiling at the telling of his more memorable adventures.

'Famed for sacking Nassau port without firing a single shot... impersonated a member of the clergy of the Church of England...' That particular memory was still enough to elicit a smirk from Jack. 'Amongst the most notorious pyrates of present times. Captain of the Black Pearl.' Jack snapped the book shut suddenly, shuddering.

 _Curious._ He thought, replacing the book in its place.

Pulling on his boots, which had been placed neatly next to the door, a growling in his gut reminded him that he had had little more to eat than broth and rum in days. Opening the door, he swayed, as though liquid lead had replaced the blood in his veins, into the main room of the cabin. Dozens of charts, papers, and discarded, leather-bound books were scattered atop a circular table, which stood in the centre of the room. Three chairs, upholstered in green silk, surrounded it, and a fourth stood beneath the windows, which had again been hung with the same blue silk curtains.

Scattering the papers, Jack studied the charts, trying to guess at their heading.

"Need to work on your organisational skills, Lizzie, love." He muttered to himself, though, from what he could tell from the jumble of charts, they were headed for Martinique.

Turning his attention again to exploring the contents of Elizabeth's cabin, and, more pressingly, finding his effects, Jack once again began to open drawers, cabinets, and boxes.

As he looked around, he couldn't help but notice a certain absence of something; where had Elizabeth been sleeping? The room no signs of having been used as a bed-chamber; no hammock, cot or blankets were to be found, and he knew full well that life aboard ship didn't allow anyone - especially the captain - the chance to pack away their bed before beginning the day. They were roused with the weather, if they were lucky, or with the first signs of attack, if less so. As to where Elizabeth, therefore, had been sleeping, he couldn't help but wonder. Or, perhaps, with whom?

A simple, sturdy oak chest in the corner of the cabin remained frustratingly locked. Grabbing a knife from the table, he stabbed it between the seam of the lock, grunting as he attempted to pry it open, but, with the solid, heavy iron padlock, it would not budge.

Bugger.

He would have to ask her where she had hidden his effects. And why she had hidden them. In fact, what better time than now.

Marching towards the door, he paused gleefully on spotting his tricorn hat, hanging on a hook on the wall. His joy was fleeting, however, as he realised that the hook held only his hat. His coat, and effects, were still missing.

Gripping the doorknob, he paused. No pirate wished to step out onto a strange deck unarmed. Or even their own deck, on their own ship. It was foolish. Turning back just long enough to retrieve the knife from atop the chest, he stuffed it into his sash.

* * *

Despite the bright sunlight, the low hanging sun showed that it was barely beyond sunrise, and the deck was silent, but for the night crew, humming and talking amongst themselves as they awaited the end of their shift. Casting a quick eye around the deck, a hand lingering tentatively near the hilt of the knife, he caught sight of Elizabeth at the helm, hair blowing behind her in the breeze.

For a moment, all concern for the whereabouts of his effects left his mind. It was the first time that he had seen Elizabeth, at least in a state of clarity, in her forest green captain's coat and her tricorn hat.

A smirk toyed at the corner of his mouth as he admired her, her golden skin, her golden hair, her dark, shining eyes, fixed so determinedly upon the horizon. As she swayed gracefully with the swell of the ship, her sword glinted in the early sunlight. Yes, this life suited her well. She had been born to be a pirate, a captain, a King. That much was clear.

Taking the steps perhaps a little tentatively, his limbs still feeling weak and not quite his own, Jack climbed to the helm, pausing near the railing, close enough to catch her attention, while not so close as to disturb her.

"Good morning, Sparrow." Elizabeth smiled in greeting, casting a scrutinising eye over him, apparently to determine his state of mind, and how able he was to be standing at present.

"Captain." He smirked, touching the tip of his hat, which he had pulled low so as to protect his throbbing eyes from the sunlight.

"Good to see you up and about."

"Aye. Only so long I can stay on me back... alone, that is." He winked suggestively. "Much to be said for my waking to find myself in a state of undress in your bed, love. If only I'd had the voice to say such things, at the time."

Elizabeth glared at him, casting a glance quickly across the deck, noting that the nearest crew member was not close enough to overhear their conversation.

"As captain, I suggest that you take care to speak to me respectfully, at _all_ times." She said, a shadow to her voice.

Jack's brows shot up in surprise. "Surely you know by now that I have the utmost respect for you, _Captain_ Swann." He teased, holding out his arms innocently. "Especially if you would only give me the chance to demonstrate-"

"So help me, Jack, I will throw you back to the depths here and now if you speak another word."

Pressing his lips tight together, Jack shook his head.

"Good. Now, as you're clearly fit enough to walk, we have a little matter to discuss."

"Aye. That we do."

Elizabeth waited patiently for him to continue. "And so? If clearly you already know what is it I'm going to ask?"

His brow furrowed. "I'm not a mindreader, love. I have a topic in mind, as do you. Doesn't mean that said topics are naturally aligned." He waved a hand in her direction. "Care to enlighten me with your innermost thoughts, dear Lizzie?"

 _He just can't help himself._ Lizzie thought, observing as Jack leant against the rail, just a tad too close to her to be quite acceptable.

"Firstly, _Sparrow_ , when aboard my ship, you will refer to me as _Captain_."

"Alright, if that's the way you want to do things, we'll refer to each other as Captain while," He stamped a foot upon the decking, "I am aboard your beloved ship."

"No." She laughed, taking one hand off the helm long enough to wipe a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "No, no, no. _I_ am Captain. You, at present, are just Sparrow."

"Love-"

"My ship does not require a second Captain, Jack. Which brings us to the topic that _I_ had in mind." Turning her body further towards Jack, she raised her chin authoritatively. "Will you stay?"

Jack blanched. "Stay?"

"Well, clearly you have once again lost your ship. You're yet to fully enlighten me with that particular tale, but I've no doubt that its as enthralling as it is mystifyingly foolish. Without a ship, and without a crew, you are, at present, a Captain in name and legend only, _Captain_ Sparrow. Secondly, we are days from land, and so even if you would prefer to jump ship at the next port, you still have perhaps three days upon my ship in the meantime. And so," Glancing at the horizon, she leant against the helm, perhaps, were she to allow herself to notice, just a tad closer to Jack than she had intended. "Will you join my crew, Jack?"

His head spun dangerously as he jerked backward, hitting the small of his back against something solid. Serve on her crew? _Elizabeth's_ crew? No, no, this wasn't right. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. He didn't serve upon the crews of others.

"Alternatively," Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively towards the deck, on seeing Jack's indecision. "We did bring your scrap of driftwood abroad, and you are of course to take your chances, should so so prefer. Personally, I think it unwise, and I cannot spare rations enough to guarantee your survival. I'll have a mutiny on my hands if I'm seen giving much-needed supplies to a man who isn't even a part of the crew. I'm sure that _you_ understand. But please don't assume that you are here by force, Jack. "

Standing a little straighter, Jack eyed her defensively. "That's _Sparrow_ to you, if you please, Captain." Suddenly fascinated by the blackened fingernails on his right hand, he asked with feigned nonchalance. " _If_ I were to choose to sail for a time as a part of your crew... what position would you grant me?"

"Well, first of all, after witnessing the debacle between Barbossa and yourself during that voyage back from the locker, I think we can both agree that no ship requires two Captains."

Jack raised a hand in thought. " _Unless_."

"No, Jack."

" _Sparrow_. Now, hear me out, _Lizzie_ -"

_"Captain Swann."_

"Unless, if you were to be King - of the ship, I mean, and I were to be _your_ Captain. Beneath you, but still a Captain, all the same." He smirked. "And you can take my meaning of the term 'beneath you' however you please, love. Authoritatively... or... physically."

"That's not going to happen-" Elizabeth twitched, feeling Jack's breath upon her face as he once again stepped closer to her.

"What isn't, exactly?"

"Either connotation of the term, I assure you."

"Now Lizzie, Lizzie, have some sense, love. While I'm by no means doubting your clearly wondrous ability to Captain this here ship - or any that may take your fancy, you know as well as I that running a ship is hard work. Would be a chance for you to put your feet up for a while, hand over the reigns to your grateful-"

"Jack."

"-Recovered patient. Perhaps dedicate some time to cleaning up those charts of yours. They'll all over the place, love. Meanwhile, you'd still be free to overrule and dictate and whatever your Kingly heart desires, but I'd be your," He chewed on a hangnail as he pondered his choice of words, "right-hand man, so to speak."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Elizabeth scoffed. "You are insufferable."

"By which, I assume that you mean that we have an accord?" He extended his hand towards her.

"We do not." She snapped, her voice as cold as ice. "There is your boat." She waved her hand towards it, limply hanging off the port side. "Good luck surviving without _any_ rum this time, but perhaps a sea turtle or two will this time come to your aid. They must have been too busy taking tea with the local mermaids last time to help."

Jack's hand drooped in disappointment as his face fell.

"Best not joke about mermaids while at sea, love." He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

Turning their wheel slightly to adjust their course, Elizabeth's glare remained fixed upon Jack.

"Where was your heading, Jack? When you set off in the dinghy? Clearly you were in pursuit of the Pearl."

"Aye, that I was. And it was headed East. Speaking of which, where are me effects, love?"

"Your effects?"

"Aye, Lizzie. When you found me adrift, what happened to me compass?"

Her brow rose innocently. "Your compass?"

"Aye, where is me compass? Me pistol and sword too, for that matter, and me coat, and," He glanced around, ensuring that no inquisitive crew members had encroached closer, to eavesdrop "And me charts."

"I can't say that I've seen your compass. Your coat and the rest of your effects are safely hidden away, as are your charts."

"Well, firstly, I'll be needing me effects back. Feeling bare without a weapon."

"You've clearly found one anyway." Elizabeth noted, nodding at the knife in his sash.

"Hardly the same, love, as you know. Secondly, I had me compass when I left Tortuga. I used it so as to ascertain me heading, after all. I can only conclude, therefore, that it has left me person only since coming aboard your ship."

"I don't know, Jack." Elizabeth shrugged. "Perhaps you threw it to the fish in your delirium."

"'Lizabeth."

"Or, perhaps you in fact _didn't_ have it on your person when you left Tortuga. Maybe you used it as payment in a whorehouse."

"That doesn't sound like me at all." He pouted.

"There is no guessing the depths of your depravity, Jack." Having spotted Huang, who had just emerged from below, looking disgruntled from yet another poor night sleep amongst the crew, Elizabeth called to him to take over at the helm.

"Good news, Huang." She smiled as he ascended the staircase, casting a particularly poisonous glare in Jack's direction. "Sparrow here is, as you can see, feeling much better. I shall be returning to sleep in my own cabin from tonight, meaning that I can return yours to you."

"I am relieved to hear, Captain." Huang said sternly as he took his place to steer the ship.

"As am I, Huang, I assure you." She replied, turning once more towards Jack. "I trust there will be no more disruption here, Sparrow?"

"No, Captain." His eyes gleamed.

As she headed for her cabin, Elizabeth realised that Jack was following close to heel.

"If you stay aboard my ship, Sparrow, you do so as a crew member, equal to the rest. You will sleep below with the rest of the crew, you'll receive the same rations, and the same share of any shiny we may plunder before you jump ship, whenever that may be." Turning sharply on her heel, Jack near bumped straight into her as she folded her arms tight across herself. "And as we've been enjoying a good run of luck of late, you could well leave my ship a rich man."

"Tempting an offer though it may be, Captain, I still must object to the offer of 'mere crew member'." He glanced over his shoulder at Huang, who was watching him coolly. "Take him, there. He's just the first mate what came with the ship." Spreading his arms wide, he grinned in triumph. "Make me first mate instead, love. You know me, you can trust me."

Elizabeth snorted. "Trust you, Jack? You'd rally a mutiny quicker than you can say Cotton's parrot."

"If that's what you think of me, love, it's a wonder that you'll let me on your ship at all." He pointed again at Huang. "And you're trusting _him_ not to rally a mutiny against you?"

"Huang has proven himself to be a worthy and valuable member of my crew. I'm not replacing him. Take it or leave it. Crewmember or you can leave my ship in your dinghy."

Jack's brow once again furrowed. In truth, he had no intention of leaving the Empress at all. Not just yet, anyway.

"As for your compass. I shall endeavour to help you find it. If we happen upon the Pearl, I will stand by you as you take it back from Barbossa."

"Who told you that it was that whoremonger what stole my ship?"

"You did, Jack. Though I'd already gathered as such. Perhaps tonight you can tell me how it happened? I strive to always learn from the mistakes of others."

He held a hand, feigning a stab of pain. "You've a cruel tongue, Captain 'Lizabeth. Besides, I don't recall the particulars of how he made off with me ship."

"That's disappointing to hear. I was curious."

"In which case, I'll endeavour to recall enough for your entertainment. And maybe just... embellish the rest."

Toying with the hilt of her sword, Elizabeth turned to view the horizon, deep in thought. "You haven't answered my question. Will you stay, Jack?"

In turn, he watched her. The green of her coat brought out the honey flecks in her eyes, he noted. "Aye, love. Of course." There was a softness to his voice which unnerved her.

"Excellent." She replied curtly, turning once more on her heel, she marched again towards her cabin.

"Perhaps a drink tonight with the Captain, to celebrate?"

"That would hardly be appropriate, Mr. Sparrow."

"Love, if you can't call me Captain, at least refrain from calling me 'mister'." He winced.

Elizabeth smirked, pausing in front of the door to her cabin. "I will rest for a while. It's been a long night. Besides, I prefer to hear beneath the stars, from time to time."

"I might join you on that." He smirked. "In the meantime, any chance that you can recover my effects from their hidey-hole?"

Elizabeth disappeared into her cabin, returning moments later. From the clunk of heavy wood, Jack deduced that she had been keeping his effects in the locked chest. Cradling the bundle in her arms, she handed them to Jack, who immediately dropped them to the ground, shoving his weapons into his sash and pulling on his coat.

"Much better."

As she turned to reenter her cabin, Elizabeth paused, halted by a sudden thought. "Oh, and Sparrow? I expect you to earn your keep aboard my ship. No special treatment. My men work hard, and so will you."

"...Aye, Captain."

"Excellent... best start scrubbing that deck then, sailor."

She closed the door on the sight of Jack's grimace, once again pressing her body against the wool wood. Pulling aside her coat, she tugged free the compass which hung near her left hip, carefully concealed. Flipping it open, she watched as the arrow pointed directly towards herself, or, rather, _beyond_ herself, and the door behind her. With the sound of departing footsteps, the arrow quivered as it turned slowly to the right, following the sound.

_Bugger._


	9. Chapter Nine: Beneath the Stars

**Chapter Nine: Beneath the Stars**

"...And then they made me their chief." Jack said to the grimy group of men who had gathered around him in the mess room to hear his tales, noting the mixed expressions of awe, doubt, and, perhaps, considering that some crew members seemed equipped with limited English skills, incomprehension.

"What happened next?" The redheaded lad, Milton, asked, leaning across the table in fascination. The ship's second cabin boy, Jacobs, nodded his dark mass of curls bobbing enthusiastically.

"Well, lad-"

"Sparrow!" Huang called, spitting the name as though it were poison. "The Captain sends for you."

Jack cocked a brow as he excused himself, swaying slightly as he rose from the bench and made his way through the crowded room towards the first mate. He hadn't had nearly enough to drink for the sway in his step to be due to inebriation, but he would be loathed to admit to himself that it was still because he was still somewhat weakened from his latest brush with death. Especially after a long, hard day of swabbing decks and climbing the rigging. He would also be loathed if he were to allow Elizabeth to notice that he wasn't quite as nimble on feet as usual, however.

Judging from the fact that, when addressing Jack, Huang's hand lingered on the hilt of his sword, his stony expression suggesting that he would wish very much to run him through, it would be fair to assume that Elizabeth's first mate therefore still hadn't warmed to the idea of Jack's presence. Hardly fair, given that Jack couldn't think of any reason for Huang to have taken such a disliking to him - a rarity, but true enough. Admittedly, Sao Feng might have had a bone or two to pick (or, more accurately, to break beneath a curled fist), with Jack, but Huang hardly seemed to hold any loyalty for his former captain, given that he seemed perfectly happy to serve on Elizabeth's crew.

"And where is the dear Captain?" Jack asked, leaning uncomfortably close into Huang's personal space. "In her cabin?"

"The Captain is taking her meal on deck tonight," Huang explained, his eyes seemingly fixed on something in the far distance. "She will speak with you now."

Jack nodded, waiting for Huang to pass to speak with another crew member, whose company he seemed much more jovial about. The first mate's back turned, Jack paused to pinch the jug of warm grog from a timid looking lad whose only protest, as Jack had predicted, was to gape like a fish freshly plucked from the sea.

He drained the grog in one gulp. "Thanks, mate." He said as he slammed down the mug, slapping the lad on the back a little too hard.

_Perhaps dear Lizzie has some rum to hand._

Climbing to the deck, he immediately saw the appeal of eating beneath the stars; it was almost a full moon, and the deck was bathed in pure, white light. Few were about, besides the helmsman and a scattering of crewmates, as most of the crew had taken to the mess for evening supper.

Her back to him, Elizabeth had seated herself near the mast and was leaning back against her arms to better admire the stars, the remnants of her supper discarded on a pewter plate at her side. He approached carefully, walking on tiptoes.

As his foot caught a particularly creaky plank of the deck, he froze, wincing to himself. It was too late, however; her head turned sharply at the sound so that he could see the moonlit profile of her nose and chin.

"Sparrow." She smirked, looking over her shoulder at him. Her hair fell in waves against her shoulders, and she had removed her forest green coat, revealing the crisp linen shirt beneath, with its billowing bishops sleeves.

"Captain Swann." He bowed courteously, with a flourish of his hat.

"Come." She patted the deck aside her.

Jack squinted at the back of her head as she turned away from him, clearly quite certain that he would do so without question. After a moment's hesitation, he squatted alongside her, following her gaze to look at the skies above.

"Do you often stargaze with members of your crew, love?" He teased. "Is this some sort of initiation? If so," He purred suggestively. "So far, I'm intrigued."

"Jack." She snapped.

He grumbled at his scolding.

"I wanted only to inquire as to your first day as a member of my crew. Lord knows you're hardly used to following orders."

Pouting, he spent a moment admiring the stars, observing Canis Major.

"You run a good ship, 'Lizabeth - Captain." He added hastily at the sight of her warning glare.

"And I heard you've already built quite a rapport with my men?"

"Aye, tell a tale or two of ventures past, and most seafaring men will lay down their arms to listen."

"I've noticed." She smiled quietly.

"You must have a few tales of your own by now, aye? Beyond those involving a certain Captain." He wriggled his eyebrows. "Care to open a bottle of rum and tell me all about them?"

"Which Captain are you referring to?" She asked sweetly.

He grumbled, hurt. "Captain Jack Sparrow, course!"

"Forgive me, I assumed that you meant my _husband_." Elizabeth teased. "Captain Turner."

"How could I forget?" He sighed.

"But, yes, my first few weeks as Captain have been... invigorating." She purred, her eyes lighting up like a child at play. How young she was, at times, as though she still a girl indulging in her pirate fixation.

"Only a few weeks since last we met, love?"

She ignored him. "Perhaps I'll tell you about them. My ventures." Elizabeth smiled.

"With rum?" He asked eagerly.

"Perhaps." She said. "But first, there are one or two things I'd like to make clear to you."

His nose wrinkled. "Didn't we already go over the particulars when you first asked me to join your crew?"

"Yes, but I have just a few more things to add."

"Alright," He said reluctantly. "What, pray, may they be, my Captain?"

"Firstly," Elizabeth began, her gaze unwavering as she contemplated the skies, "Anne is a valued member of my crew. You signed your mark against the code of my ship*, Jack, you saw the clause regarding women."

"Aye..."

"Then you will understand that Anne is under my protection. You will not toy with her, Jack."

For a moment, he feigned offense, holding his hand to his chest as though struck. As Elizabeth pierced him with _that_ look, however, he soon dropped the pretense. As any man would, he had of course noticed Anne - the only woman aboard, besides Elizabeth. She was a pretty girl, and, yes, he would have had no objections to sharing a hammock with her, now and then. Finding _intimate_ company at sea was a rare thing, after all.

"And if the lady should decide that she would toy with me?"

Elizabeth snorted. "From my understanding, you're not her type, Jack."

Comprehension dawning, he leant towards Elizabeth, his dark eyes smoldering. "And just how much of an understanding might you have, dear Lizzie?"

That certainly caught her attention.

"Jack!"

"These things do happen at sea, love. Certain... _curiosities_."

As her eyes hardened and her jaw set in that particular way, Jack noted to himself that there was just something so alluring about Elizabeth when she was angry. It had the same effect on him as when he sailed the Pearl through a storm; while many would cower below decks, Jack could feel the rage of the storm coursing through his veins, and he lived for it. It lived for those moments.

"She told me as such." Elizabeth smiled, at last, opting not to rise to the bait. She turned her eye coolly back towards the stars.

"Quite the trusted confidant you must be, love." He mocked.

"I have a second point," Elizabeth snapped, hurrying on in the conversation.

"Aye? If you're worried about my 'toying', as you so delicately put it, with the men of your crew, fret not. Naught wrong with it now and then, mind, but I generally prefer me bedfellows, to be of the..." He waved his hands in her direction, particularly towards her breasts. "womanly sorts."

"That wasn't my point, but thank you for clarifying." She scoffed.

"You're most welcome, love. But tell me, dear Captain," He asked, his voice dripping, "what was your point, exactly?"

Moving like a cat, Elizabeth grabbed a dagger from her boot, spinning until its blade pressed against the exposed flesh of Jack's neck. He did not recoil, as she had expected, and so their faces were mere inches apart, her warm breath on his lips as she spoke. He glanced down at the blade, and then at Elizabeth, his dark eyes locking with hers after a tantalising glance at her lips.

"I trust that you have no intention of rousing a mutiny upon my ship, Jack?" She asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

He took his time to respond, allowing his gaze to continue to draw leisurely over her fine features; the deep shadows beneath her sharp cheekbones, made met more prominent since last they met, her long, fine neck, her plump lips, parted slightly. Flashes of memories flitted through his mind. Memories of a particular kiss. A kiss which he had thought often of since. He'd often wished to ask her about it. As far as kisses go (and he could boast of more than his fair share of expertise on the subject by now) it had been... curious. Not in its technique, besides for the fleeting thought of how a woman so apparently virtuous, could have learnt to kiss like that, but, rather, in the way in which it had... stirred... something. Within.

"Haven't I already said as such?" He said, at last, feeling Elizabeth press the blade a touch harder against his skin.

"You say many things, Jack." She smiled, glancing down at Jack's mouth; a motion not unnoticed to Jack. "I confess, I don't entirely trust you."

"Still?"

"Especially still." She said. "And so, I just want to make it _perfectly_ clear to you that if I hear so much as a whisper of mutiny, I will deal with you just as I would any other crew member. Worse, in fact. As it would be you, of all people, turning against me. You've Captained a ship, Jack. You know as well as I that leniency is weakness."

Of course, that was something he knew all too well, having learnt the hard way himself. Leniency had lost him his ship - thrice.

"Aye." He said, suddenly sobered by the thought. "That I do."

Satisfied, Elizabeth returned the knife to her boot, though her eyes remained warily on Jack, lest he should decide to retaliate.

A small trickle of blood ran down Jack's neck; she had just nicked the surface of his flesh. Quite unintentionally, but it helped to make her point, all the same.

"Now," Elizabeth said courteously, taking a moment to wipe the trickle of blood from Jack's neck, with the corner of her sash, before returning to her original pose of leaning back against her arms. "I'm curious to know what profit you see in joining my crew?"

She smirked as Jack furrowed his brow, once again pretending not to know her meaning.

"Come, Jack. You know as well as I that you'd never agree to _anything_ unless you can see some advantage to yourself. No matter how convoluted. Anyone else may assume that the choice between your dinghy with no supplies, or joining my crew and being, perhaps not well-fed, but well enough, at least, would be a sensible enough reason." Flicking her gaze back to him, she stared at him through her dark lashes. "But you're not a sensible, man, Jack. I know that you're always thinking ahead, working out a strategy. Somewhere down the line, you have a use for me, or my crew, or my ship - or all of the above. If I'm going to be drawn into one of your... fiascos, I'd rather know exactly what you have in mind right now."

"Fret not, dear Lizzie." He mocked, wriggling his fingers in her direction. "I seek the only refuge aboard your crew, and your... assistance, should we come across me Pearl, which you've already said you'll give, if necessary."

"It's more the particulars that concern me, Jack. I know your goals, I don't yet know exactly how I'll fit into your plan to achieve them."

Jack began to take a particular interest in his fingernails. In truth, until he could find his compass, which would - he was sure - lead him to the Pearl, he didn't have much of a plan at all. He knew that he could hardly leave the Empress without it, however.

"Because," Lizzie continued. "I know that you'll do whatever is necessary in order to get your ship back."

"An admirable trait."

"Admirable until the point when I, or any of my crew, are used as a bargaining chip. Or a sacrificial goat."

_Goat?_

"Hand on me blackened heart, Lizzie, love," He demonstrated as such, "I've no intention of using you for either. You're much better to have as an ally. That I've learned - the hard way." He creased his nose once more at the memory of _that_ kiss. Or, rather, what had swiftly followed it.

Elizabeth studied him. While his words were dismissive, there was something heavy to his tone, and sincerity in his eyes. Time and again she had put her trust in Jack, and been betrayed by him... and yet, how often had he proven himself to be a good man. A surprisingly honest, good man? Whereas she, on the other hand? The _good_ daughter from a _good_ family? How often had she betrayed _him_ and proven her heart to be as black as coal, and her morals as dubious as Jack's?

"Not to mention," He added. "That dear husband of yours is _definitely_ better to have as an ally."

She smiled, and, while her pose did not move, she seemed to soften slightly leaning - he was sure - slightly closer.

"Speaking of which. Found any means of contacting Calypso yet?"

"Hmm? Oh. I've hardly begun even _thinking_ about how I'd speak with her, yet, truth be told. I've spent most of the past month in Shipwreck Cove, with your father."

"We always did share the same taste in women." Jack leered.

" _Studying the code_." She said, glaring at him. "And learning about my duties as King."

"Glad to hear it, love. If you'd decided that you preferred old Teague, to me-"

"Jack."

He smirked wickedly to himself, turning his attention to the stars.

"As this discussion seems to be of the questioning and clarifying sort, might I ask, my dear Captain, where our heading may be?"

"Martinique."

"Any reason?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Where we will, we roam, Jack. Besides, it's en route to Calypso's - or perhaps I should say - Tia Dalma's shack, and that seems as good a place as any to start with searching for her. I wonder what has become of it." She asked as an afterthought.

"Might I suggest, if I may, a brief detour to Tortuga?"

"Tortuga?"

"Aye, just briefly, mind, in order to gather up one Mr. Gibbs. I seem to have misplaced him."

Elizabeth's brow rose quizzically. "You do realise that my ship isn't a refuge for the wandering dregs of the Pearl, Jack?"

"Dregs, love?" Jack gasped. "Mr. Gibbs and I are the only not-dregs of the crew... besides one or two. Marty and Cotton are only partially 'dregged', but good men, all the same."

Elizabeth looked at him, apparently finding no humour in his words. Instead, her mind drifted once more towards the skies, or rather, to thoughts beyond the skies, allowing Jack ample time to study her expression. While moments ago her eyes had burned bright with the flame of her legend; King and Captain, Elizabeth Swann, a legend which she wore as armour around herself, as their conversation waned on, her facade had crumbled just slightly, barely susceptible to anyone but her most trusted confidants. While, undoubtedly, and, in fact, especially because, they had had their ups and downs over the past few years, Jack would claim to know Elizabeth better than most. Or, in many ways, better than any. The whelp, especially. He was quite certain, after all, that Will Turner had never really _seen_ Elizabeth. Or at least, not since she was a young woman in her corsets and skirts, the unattainable angel of virtue. From the moment that Jack had pulled her from the sea and release her from her corset in one swoop of his blade, a transformation had begun within Elizabeth; freedom. It had been a catalyst moment that would, in just a few years, lead to King Elizabeth Swann. And, he was quite sure that it was in that same moment when blade met stays, did Will stop quite seeing Elizabeth for who she was. Or stop accepting what he was seeing, at least.

He knew what it took to build a legend, and how exhausting it could be. Especially without having anyone with whom a legend could remove their facade.

Jack cleared his throat, a sound which gave Elizabeth cause to sit up a little straighter. She knew that sound; he was preparing to ask her something. A difficult question, perhaps. Something which gave him reason enough to choose his words carefully.

At last, he seemed to settle, for once, with the simplest means of asking a question both profoundly complex, and profoundly simple.

"How are you, Elizabeth?"

Her spine stiffening, Elizabeth turned her head so quickly towards him, her neck cricked. Massaging the twinging muscle, she asked with a splutter. "What?"

His eyes meeting hers, he stared, apparently into her soul, with those dark, omniscient eyes. Like a cobra, drawing her in.

"Are you alright?"

Her mind flashed to one month earlier when he had asked her that same question, moments after she had said goodbye to Will, her husband of just a few hours, a goodbye which would span a decade. The last time he has asked after her wellbeing, she had cried. Cried hopelessly into his arms, and he had held her, stroking her hair, whispering soothing nothings into her ear. Both of their legends cast aside at that moment; they were neither Captain Jack Sparrow, nor King Elizabeth Swann, but simply two people who had known loss, and recognised something in each other. Something that, during the still, silent corners of the night, she might admit to herself, they had recognised in each other from the instant their eyes met, as she lay in her sodden shift upon the docks of Port Royal, a stranger leaning over her.

This time, however, she would not cry. Especially not in front of her crew - no matter how few of them would be present to witness. Jumping to her feet, she gathered up her pewter plate, silently cursing herself as her slightly blurred vision caused her to bump the side of her hand against the edge of it, the first time that she reached for it.

Without a word, she marched to her cabin, slamming the door behind her.

She did not see Jack's concerned stare after her, nor his truly alarmed look of befuddlement as the depth of his concern dawned on him.

_Oh... Bugger._

* * *

_*While there was a pirate code, individual Captain's often had their own code by which they held their crew, and every crew member was expected to agree to the code, and abide by its rules. The punishments for breaking the code were, naturally, severe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading reviews, lovelies! If you like this chapter - or if you hated it - leave a comment and tell me why :) x


	10. Chapter Ten: The Bonds we all must Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in twelve hours? Clearly I'm on a roll.
> 
> On a separate note, yesterday I saw an amazing tribute to video to Elizabeth Swann, that, in my head, fits so perfectly with my image of her, as a strong (yet fragile), powerful (yet vulnerable), oh-so-human, badass King, that I feel I have to mention it. The video in question is entitled 'Elizabeth Swann | Hit me with your best shot' by the amazingly talented 'amorentia X'.

**Chapter Ten: The Bonds we all must Break**

Barely making it through the door before the tears began to fall, Elizabeth paced the room in a rage, trying to untangle the mess of emotions that was tugging at her, somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach. Grabbing up a discarded novel, she threw it hard against the wall, watching as it landed with a clatter, its pages falling open.

_Damn him. Should have left him in his damn dinghy._

Pulling open a drinks cabinet - newly acquired from a plundered ship - she tugged the cork from a fresh bottle of rum, taking several long, deep glugs, feeling as the liquid trickled down her throat. Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, she returned to pacing furiously - something which had become a common pastime of hers, of late.

Moving swiftly into her bedroom, she lit a lantern, placing it on her dresser so that it lit the sharp contours of her face, which she turned towards the mirror searchingly. Her skin was as brown as a nut, her hair bleached by the sun. Long-gone were the well-tended, hot-ironed curls of the Governor's daughter. Now, instead, her hair hung in limp, loose waves against her shoulders, thick with sea salt and somewhat brittle to the touch. While she was still as vigilant about her personal hygiene as life at sea would allow, freshwater was sparse, and so the water used to fill her tiny, tin bath (another pillaged find), was pulled straight from the sea using a bucket, winched up to her cabin's window. Needless to say, the sea salt was not much good for her skin, either. Holding her palms close to her eyes, she observed the hardened callouses, and the various blisters, cuts, scrapes, and scars, acquired in just a few years.

Nevertheless, she felt no grief to see her beauty deteriorate - beauty, according to the standards of the society in which she had been raised, anyway. How would her beauty be judged in other corners of the world? No matter. Her flesh may never again be opalescent, and may forever be scarred and marked, and her hair and teeth may well fall out entirely. But what use was there in beauty, if its purpose was considered useful only to find her a good husband, to whom she would bear children, and little else?

 _A good husband_.

What would Will think of her, in ten years time when he returned home for his one day of freedom, to find his wife scorched from the sun, as dark as a mulatto*, her once soft skin coarse to the touch, her teeth replaced with gold and her hair as dry as cinder? Would he be disgusted? Would he resent her, for not having upheld her beauty for him? Would he avoid their marital bed - or cabin, or rock upon a deserted beach, or wherever else it may be?

Reaching into her shirt, she pulled at a long cord, at the end of which, a rather large, golden key hung between her breasts. Tugging the cord free, she walked, a little unsteady, to the chest in the corner of the main cabin. The chest in which she had kept Jack's effects. Had he not survived, what would she have done with them? Would they have remained there, within the chest, forever, until she herself was forgotten? Would she have ever been able to part with them?

Of course, she knew the answer to that question.

Turning the key, she listened for the small click of the lock, before returning the key to its place beneath her shirt, tying the cord deftly at the nape of her neck. Pushing her palms against the heavy chest, she lifted the lid, leaning it back against the far wall. There was one item, besides his charts to the Fountain of Youth, which she had yet to return to Jack.

She couldn't say why she had yet to return his compass to him or even to admit to him that she had it at all, as she hardly knew herself the reason. Earlier that morning, it had frightened her. Why would it point to _him_ , of all people? After all this time?

And yet, what - or who else would it point to? Will? Surely it couldn't, as he was in a world beyond her reach. While Davy Jones had surfaced to this world, he had had no right to do so. Her husband, being the good, honest man that he was, would no doubt be doing his duty, ferrying souls to the other side, a side beyond the reach of the compass' arrow. He would not cross to her side. Not even to see her.

Therefore, what else? What in _this_ world, did she want most?

She had no idea.

Opening the lid of the compass, she held it flat in her palm, her eyes closed.

_Where we will, we roam._

She roamed, without a cause or purpose. She still intended on finding Calypso, yes, in order to better clarify some of the finer points of her role in the Dutchman's curse, and to what rules she must abide, for the sake of Will's soul. But as to whether even that could be considered to be what she wanted most in the world... little more than permission to be an unfaithful wife, so long as it didn't cause further suffering upon her husband?

 _Pirate_.

And what of Jack? Her feelings for him had never been clear. It was much simpler to deem him a blackguard, a liar, and a cheat, and to have done with it. Better to revoke her trust in him once and for all, and to consider him with perpetual suspicion. And yet, she couldn't. He was all grey. Captain Jack, the legend, versus Jack Sparrow, the man. He was light and dark, friend and foe, a trickster. Like smoke, and yet so... real. He was... infuriating.

At last, building the nerve to open her eyes, she looked down at the compass face. Its arrow, as it had earlier that morning, was pointed directly behind her.

"Found me compass, I see, love?"

Elizabeth's head snapped towards the door. She was still crouched beside the open chest, the compass balanced in her hand. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but had no defense - she had been caught, red-handed. Instead, she rose carefully to her feet, as though standing before a wild animal, unsure as to whether it would pounce.

Jack stood in the open doorway, a near-silhouette against the white moonlight, which pooled across the floorboards, leaving a perfect outline of his shadow. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her with some bemusement.

At last, she found words enough to speak.

"I don't recall giving you any right to sneak into my cabin whenever you feel like it?"

"Aye, well, then it's a good thing that I've not much a mind for asking for permissions, aye, love?" He said, stepping towards her. "Else I've a feeling I'd have never gotten me compass back." His eyes snapped to the compass, and Elizabeth snapped it shut, though not before he caught a quick glimpse of the arrow.

 _Interesting_. He mused to himself.

Tossing the compass carelessly to him, he caught it deftly in one hand.

"I'd have returned it soon enough. I was just..."

"...Curious?"

She didn't reply, her expression indecipherable.

Flipping open the compass, Jack made a point of covering it behind his hand, so that Elizabeth could not see where it pointed.

Refusing to rise to the bait, she glared at him, her eyes burning.

 _That's very interesting._ He mused.

Turning his head, he spotted the drinks cabinet in the corner. Snapping the compass shut with a flourish, he helped himself to a bottle of rum, offering one to Elizabeth. Retrieving her own half-empty bottle, left abandoned upon the table, she waved it at him in response, before taking a long, gratifying gulp. He followed suit, their eyes locking as the drank.

Wiping her chin, she replaced the now empty bottle upon the table.

"Get out of my cabin, Jack."

"Not until I know, dear Lizzie, just why you chose to keep me beloved compass from me?" His voice was smooth, like honey, taunting her.

Of course, she had no response, no excuse.

"I hardly know." She confessed, at last, her voice little more than a whisper.

Taken aback, Jack raked his gaze over her face, noting her eyes once again wet with tears. 

_Turn back, Jackie, me lad_. He told himself sternly. _These are dangerous waters._

Had he not just reasoned with himself, out on deck, that he ought better to keep his distance? Elizabeth was an alluring creature. Granted, he had met many alluring women in his days, women who would bring a man to his knees with a single look, and yet, when it came to Elizabeth, there was something more. Something most _definitely_ to be avoided.

And yet... he just couldn't quite pull away.

"Lizzie." He said, his voice low, a rumble in his throat.

She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed beneath his skin. Was he, of all things, nervous?

Steeling herself, she turned her back to him.

"I don't allow my crew to just wander into my cabin uninvited," She spat, her voice returning to the clipped tones of a Governor's daughter. " _Sparrow_. You will leave. Now."

The illusion shattered, he smirked, taking another long drink of rum.

Glancing over her shoulder, she glared at him. "Nor do they help themselves to _my_ personal rum supply."

Holding out his arms in mock-innocence, he painted his face with his most charming smile. "Thought I'd help you out, love. Unless you've become better acquainted with my friend here," He shook the rum bottle at her, "since last we met, from my recollection, you were never much a fan of the stuff."

"Forgive me if I don't feel the need to empty my drinks cabinet as swiftly as yourself."

"And what was it that you once said regarding this here golden elixir?" He continued, ignoring her. "Oh, yes, ' _It is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels_ '." He mocked, adopting a taunting, high pitched voice, and her cut-glass accent. Draining the bottle, he looked at it sadly. "Oh."

_Why is the rum always gone?_

"Get out of my cabin, Jack."

"What's more," He began again, depositing the empty bottle alongside her own, before helping himself to another from the cabinet. "What is a scoundrel, 'Lizabeth, but a man - or woman - so wholly committed to their freedom that they're broken the bonds of societal regulation and expectation, aye? Who deems a man a scoundrel, but those still without their freedom?"

Once again, he met her gaze with that dark stare. _That look._ The one that could see straight through her.

 _Damn you_.

"You think I'm somehow still lacking in my freedom, Jack?" She waved her arms around her, towards her plunder, her cabin, her ship. "How much more freedom could a person gain? I am a pirate, a Captain, an outlaw, and a King. Where we will, we roam, Jack. I haven't even a-" Her voice caught in her throat, "my _husband_ here to tell me what I may or may not do."

He watched her, as she paced back and forth across the room, her temper simmering to boil.

"Aye." He said quietly. "Aye, you've come far, 'Lizabeth. And yet..." Stepping closer, he didn't speak again until he could feel her warmth and see the glow in her eyes. "You can't even have a male crew-mate in your own cabin without worrying about what the rest of the crew will say? That's not freedom, love. You're still bound by the rules of your past, love - you're binding yourself to them."

Elizabeth did not respond, staring up at him. How true he was, of course.

"People will talk, either way, 'Lizabeth. May as well give them something to talk about, rather than lock yourself away, and resist the things _you want_ _most_ , so as to try and maintain your reputation." He scoffed. "You're a bloody pirate, Captain Swann. And a King of said pirates, to boot. Your reputation is already unsalvageable."

"I don't want it back." She confessed. "I just..."

"That so? And what of dear William, when he returns to find that his wife has fully claimed her freedom once and for all, and has spent the decade enjoying vices that no doubt go against his crystal-clear, moral compass, aye?"

She blanched.

"There." He said, pointing both of his index fingers at her. He lightly traced the line of her jaw. "There are your bonds, Lizzie, me girl."

Stepping back, he nodded knowingly at her. "Take what you can."

Taking his compass, and a fresh bottle of rum, he cast her one last, knowing look, as he closed the door gently behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throughout this series, while the opinions and actions of POTC's characters make it obvious that they are creations of the 21st century, I'm trying to bring a darker, slightly more realistic tone to their story, while remaining sensitive towards readers. Therefore, I will at times be using terms and expressing opinions that would have been held by people, or certain people, in the 18th century. These terms and opinions can be deemed offensive in modern times, and so I just wanted to give a word of warning, first of all, and to clarify that I would never use such terms, or express these opinions, myself. Hopefully, that's an unnecessary clarification, but I wanted to make it, all the same.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please give it a like, or leave a review. I love reviews :)


	11. Chapter Eleven: Two Captains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this one, and it took much longer than I expected to write. Sorry for the wait, lovelies!
> 
> While I wrestled with this chapter, I made a few Sparrabeth/Elizabeth Swann videos on Youtube. The first is, not exactly a trailer for this series, but I suppose is supposed to convey my interpretation of Elizabeth Swann. If anyone's interested, here is the link:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCuP-kuecnWL_7iLh9YSHdAg  
> Youtube username: TravellingTypewriter

**Chapter Eleven: Two Captains**

The running of any pirate ship; or any ship, for that matter, consisted of endless, backbreaking work, and while Elizabeth's Empress was half the size of the Pearl, the list of chores was no less unyielding, though many, Jack had been fortunate enough to have avoided for some time, being Captain of the Pearl.

The day began with a meal of hardtack, beer, and the luxury of some fruit plucked recently from a minuscule isle. He was then set to work, holystoning the decks; a menial task in which brittle sandstone and seawater were rubbed ceaselessly against the wood, resulting, eventually in stripping the wood back to reveal a beautiful ashen white colour. Or, in the case of the Pearl, curiously, a deep charcoal grey. No amount of holystoning could reveal her untouched oak.

While this strange occurrence had proven enough to drive numerous of his more superstitious crewmates to jump ship, Jack had long since privately formed his own theory as to how his ship could apparently be charred to the core, and yet remain afloat.

That wretched day, when Beckett had had him chained to the mast of his beloved ship, his flesh freshly seared raw with the brand of a pirate, he had given his soul to the servitude of Davy Jones in exchange to have his ship, his lady, returned from the depths. And, while Jones had spared her, she had risen not as a pristine, reborn vessel, as Jack had expected, but bearing the scars of her ordeal, just as Jack would forever bear his brand and the various scars that marred his flesh. She had risen, revealing to him her blackened soul, and he has shown his own, in turn.

"Look lively, Sparrow." Huang barked, snapping Jack out of his reverie.

"Captain Jack Sparrow." He grumbled under his breath, followed the man with his obsidian gaze.

Over the mellow tones of the sea shanties, sung by his crewmates, he heard a voice call to the first mate. He turned his gaze towards the helm, towards Elizabeth. She had been there all morning, the breeze of the wind catching her hair, which fell down around her shoulders, and the feathers of her hat.

It vexed him, how often his eye drifted in her direction. It vexed him even more how... content he was, to remain upon the Empress, despite his dissatisfaction with the tasks granted him. At least, he was content to remain until he found his Pearl once more, of course. And find her, he would.

"Sparrow!" Huang called, marching back across the deck, towards Jack. He came to a stop directly in front of him.

Jack looked up with a grimace.

"Aye, Sir?" He said, between gritted teeth.

"The Captain will speak with you."

He glanced once more towards Elizabeth, who nodded, her chin high.

"Aye, Sir."

Abandoning his sandstone and pail of sea salt, he made his way leisurely up the staircase, to the helm, leaning casually against the rail. He crossed a leg in front of the other, touching a finger to his bandana in mock salute.

"Captain?"

"The sails need patching." She nodded towards them, and then cast an eye over Jack, taking in the lean, wiry muscles beneath his shirt. "You look like you can help Smith, well enough."

He noticed her gaze, as she glanced, seemingly with nonchalance, over the length of his body, but he noted a fire pooling in the depths of her dark eyes and met her gaze with a knowing, playful look; the look that she had seen so often, which she could only bring herself to describe as 'insufferable'. He was insufferable.

"Aye, Captain." He smirked, but as he turned to leave, a thought occurred. "Might I be so bold as to inquire as to our heading?"

"I believe we've already had this conversation."

"And as I recall, you didn't respond to my suggestion?"

"Suggestion? You mean your request to stop by Tortuga to pick up your abandoned first mate?"

"Aye, that be the one."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him, taking a long while to respond. "I believe I gave you a just enough response at the time, Jack." She nodded towards the sails. "Off you go."

He grumbled, bowing elaborately, his hat swooping down to touch his toes, as he departed. "As you command, your nibs."

God, she was infuriating.

Someone's getting too big for her hat. Jack mused, though his smirk continued to tug at the corner of his mouth. He knew that he should be more put out than, in truth, he was. This wasn't doing his reputation as Captain Jack Sparrow any good, after all, but...

He paused on the stairs, casting a side-eye in Elizabeth's direction. Her skin was as tanned as his own by now, her cheekbones slightly burnt, the effect only accentuating her high cheekbones, as though she were wearing rouge. Once again, his eye had been drawn to her, and there was something... curious, about the pull she had over him. No, not over him, exactly, but just... something.

"You Sparrah, then?"

"Aye?" He jerked, snapping around to face the deck.

A short, ruddy-looking man peered up at him from the bottom of the staircase, a coil of rope balanced against a broad shoulder.

"Name's Smith. Come on, ain't no time for daudlin'. Help me fetch more canvas from the 'old." He threw down the rope, shielding his eyes over his hand as he peered upwards. "Not looking too bad. Shouldn't take us long." He cast an appraising eye over Jack, taking in his build, as Elizabeth had, "You're wiry enough to be up t' darting about the rigging like a rat, I imagine."

Jack winced at the comparison but agreed all the same.

"Come on, look lively."

༄༄༄

She'd noticed, out of the corner of her eye, and had braced herself, assuming that his pause on the staircase had been to ask her something else untoward; to push the boundaries against her captaincy, and his place upon her crew, as much as possible, judging by the smirk that lingered on his lips. In truth, Jack had so far surprised her, with his acceptance of her demands. She had expected him to have caused an uproar by breakfast, and to hold fast to his insistence that he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

In truth, she had to admit that she was almost disappointed that he had not. Almost.

His lack of defiance concerned her though, and she had been so sure that he had been braced to argue as he paused on the staircase. And, oh, if he had dared tried, when she had just spared him the backbreaking task of holystoning and put him instead to the much more enjoyable task of mending the sails? An equally tiring task, sure enough, but she knew that Jack had no fear of hard work - so long as it was work fit for a Captain. Usually.

As she'd cast a fleeting glance at him from beneath her lashes, however, she couldn't help but note that there was something about his expression as he looked at her... something... curious. And the way he held himself, stiffly, as though she herself was something unexpected, and he didn't quite know how to respond to her. Such a brief moment, gone before it had hardly happened at all.

As she watched him make his way below deck with Smith, her brow furrowed.

No, she had definitely not yet decided whether it was wise to have Jack aboard her ship at all.

༄༄༄

As Elizabeth has expected, Jack could climb the rigging as nimbly as his monkey namesake, swinging deftly from one rope to the next, taking half the work upon himself, as Smith could scarcely keep up. Every few minutes, she found her eye drawn skyward, and, indeed, half of the crew seemed more interested in Jack's acrobatics than their own tasks. Twice Huang had to warn them to get back to work, and, with each warning, Elizabeth grew steadily more annoyed.

_He just can't help himself._

Just then, Milton called out from the crow's nest.

"Land ho!"

"Ah," Elizabeth smiled. "Tortuga."

She glanced up towards the rigging. Sure enough, Jack had stopped to stare at the island ahead. Even from the helm, she could see the satisfied smile on his lips.

He looked down, eyes locking with hers.

Elizabeth nodded once, before returning her attention to the helm.

༄༄༄

"Huang, the crew have one night ashore. I will have everyone aboard and ready to set sail at eight bells. Anybody not aboard by that time will be left behind." Elizabeth said as she made her way across the deck.

"Aye, Captain." Huang said, dashing off immediately to relay the information to the crew.

"Milton, Jacobs, you two will remain aboard, on watch duty. Dai, Qin, you too will be on watch tonight. Next time, men. We will reach Martinique in a few days, and there you will have your fun and rest. You have my word."

While a little disgruntled, they accepted their task.

"Sparrow." Elizabeth called.

He appeared at her side, startling her slightly.

"You nibs?" He asked with mock seriousness.

"I trust you'll know where to find Gibbs?"

"Aye, he'll be in the _Faithful Bride_. Or," He wrinkled his nose, "More is likely, in a gutter close by."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, though not without affection. For all his faults, she was fond of old Gibbs, and wouldn't mind having him amongst her crew for a time. Perhaps he could take over Jack's task of entertaining the crew with elaborate tales.

"Let's find him, shall we?"

Once more, Jack made that same mocking bow, his hat sweeping low, as he indicated for Elizabeth to go ahead.

Pouting, she rolled her eyes.

They made their way down the gangplank, and Elizabeth noticed Anne waiting upon the dock.

"Fancy a drink, Captain?" She smiled.

"I think we all could do with one." She replied, the three of them falling into easy sync side by side. "You've met Sparrow here, I trust?"

Anne nodded. "Briefly."

Jack nodded in her direction.

"Harris." Anne smiled. "Pleasure."

Tapping his fingers to the brim of his hat as he walked, Jack peered up at her beneath dark lashes. "Pleasure's all mine, Miss Harris."

Elizabeth shot Anne a warning glance.

_Told you._

She had, of course, mentioned Anne's... preferences, to Jack, but, of course, he just couldn't help himself.

Anne shot him a steely gaze but otherwise paid him no mind.

"How are you finding it aboard the Empress, Mr. Sparrow?"

_Captain._

"Given I've only served upon Liz - that is - Captain Swann's crew, for a day, I haven't much to say as yet, though I must say, I've served upon much worse vessels in my time."

"Aye, it's a good group of men - and women." Anne said.

As they rounded the corner, the stench of Tortuga hit them. A putrid mixture of rum, sweat, vomit, manure, and sin. Prostitutes hung from the arms of sailors, while others took each other roughly against barrels and in dank alleyways. Men sang shanties and several fist-fights had broken out. The cobblestones were saturated in all manner of bodily fluids.

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose.

To their left, the wooden, faded sign of the _Faithful Bride_ swung gently in the breeze.

"Here?" Anne asked, making her way towards the door.

"Hold it." Jack called, holding up a finger as he peered around the side of the building, into a dark alleyway, wretched with the smell of urine.

Elizabeth cast a glance towards Anne. "We need to pick something up first."

Anne furrowed her brow inquisitively, watching as Jack marched past her, filling a discarded bucket with water from a nearby horse trough, before trudging back again.

"No, no," Elizabeth said, stepping forward to take it from him. "Let me do the honours, please."

With a flourish of his hand, Jack released the bucket into her grasp. "Your nibs."

Stepping quietly into the alleyway, the stench made her near gag.

In the centre of the alleyway, covered in weeks' worth of grime and using a pig (which, remarkably, was the much cleaner mammal of the two), as a pillow, Gibbs snored quietly, a stuffed bear bizarrely tucked beneath his arm.

In one satisfying flick of her arm, Elizabeth poured the entire bucket of water down upon him.

"Curse you for breathing!" He gasped, leaping to his feet. The pig, equally startled, snorted in protest, though it soon settled back to its rest. "You... Lord alive. Captain Swann - Turner."

"Swann." Elizabeth corrected. "My husband is Captain Turner." A pang of pain pulled at her gut at the mention of her husband.

"Captain Swann... Don't yer know it's bad luck to be wakin' a man while he's sleeping."

"It's also bad luck to have a woman aboard, and yet." She indicated to herself. "King."

"Aye, there be the truth of it."

Choosing just that moment to emerge around the corner of the alleyway, followed closely by Anne, who was looking upon the scene curiously, Jack opened his arms in welcome.

"Captain!"

"Not at present." Elizabeth corrected.

"Ay?" Gibbs asked, puzzled.

"Ah! About that, 'Lizabeth."

"Captain Swann."

"Aye, Captain. By my reckoning, just cause me own ship is currently stolen from me, much of which is the fault of Mr. Gibbs here," He waved an accusatory hand towards the offending man, whose expression diligently became one of regret. "For sleeping while on watch duty, that doesn't make me less of her Captain. Furthermore, while I'm fully recognising of your authority aboard your Empress, we are," He tapped his boot upon the ground, "Not presently aboard your ship. We are on land. And while on land, I'd argue that I'm, therefore, Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

Elizabeth crossed her eyes, her gaze hardened.

At last, she smirked. "Very well, Jack."

"Aye?" He blanched.

"Jack, I couldn't care less as to how you refer to yourself while on land. Rechristen yourself as Dorothy, for all I care, so long as you stay out of my way. Do as you please." Turning on her heel, she left to join Anne in the _Faithful Bride_. "So long as you're both aboard my ship by eight bells. Assuming, that is, that Mr. Gibbs cares to join my crew alongside yourself." She didn't wait for a response.

As she rounded the corner, Gibbs looked at Jack incredulously.

"Jack? What's in heaven's name is going on?"

Jack sighed, rubbing his brow. "I need... rum."

"Faithful Bride?"

"Not with 'Lizabeth there. Need to talk, mate. Away from prying eyes. Away from _her_ eyes."

Crossing the courtyard, they made their way instead for _The Admiral's Girl_ , a rather sordid looking tavern. A particularly large looking bloodstain in the doorway boded well as to the atmosphere inside.

"Keep a sharp eye." Jack said as he pushed open the doors.

The air was thick with smoke, a mixture of tobacco and opium, so dense, Jack and Gibbs squinted against it as their eyes stung.

The scene much replicated the carnage of the street; prostitutes draped themselves over the bodies of their patrons, some not even bothering to make their way to the rooms upstairs, instead hitching their skirts around their thighs as they straddled their laps of their customers. Three fights seemed to have erupted within the main room, men smashing bottles and the butts of their pistols against each others' skulls, women screaming as they pulled hair from the root, and slapped wildly at whatever limb they could reach, as others gathered and cried, placing bets.

As the door swung closed, a shot was fired, burrowing into the doorframe no more than three inches to Jack's left. He glanced at it, and over his shoulder at Gibbs, who raised a brow. Weaving easily through the crowd, Jack made his way to the bar, holding up two fingers, for which a barmaid with pox-marked skin handed him two bottles of rum.

"Pay the lass, Gibbs." Jack nodded, disappearing into the crowd before the man could object.

"Aye, Captain." Rummaging through his pockets, Gibbs paid with a single coin, following Jack to a booth in the far corner.

Sliding into their seats, they both took a long, grateful swig of rum, neither speaking until their thirst was quenched.

"Now," Gibbs began. "Jack. Care to explain how is it you came to be sailing with Miss Sw- Mrs. Turner."

"Captain Swann, Gibbs." Jack corrected with a raised finger. "As the lady said, Captain Turner is aboard the Dutchman."

Gibbs furrowed her brow. "She still called him husband, though?"

"Aye, that she did." Jack took another swig of rum, somewhat pensive. "Ten years is a long time, mate."

Gibbs' eyes widened in alarm. "God's strewth, Jack. You haven't risked the wrath of a second of the Dutchman's captains, have you?"

"Unless Captain Turner objects to my presence aboard the same vessel of his dearly beloved, which, considering that, after all, I did to bring about their union, would hardly be fair, then, no, I haven't. See. Live and learn, from time to time."

"So how is it you find yerself aboard her ship, Jack?"

"If you'll only bloody shut it for a moment, Mr. Gibbs, I've a tale to tell."

That seemed to placate him; there was nothing that Gibbs enjoyed more than a tale to be told.

Jack relayed all that had happened; his desperate four days aboard the Pearl's dinghy, his attempts to catch fish, using naught but hair from his back as a fishing line - he had succeeded, naturally, but there was nothing to be done for the terrible thirst. He told of how, just as he felt his eyes growing heavy, visions dancing before his eyes, he was found by none other than Elizabeth. He didn't mention that he had a vague memory, or perhaps a memory imagined, of Elizabeth staring down at him from the deck of the Empress, such a look of terror and fear upon her face like he had not seen since she had witnessed her father's soul, in a boat of his own, within the locker. He couldn't be sure that it had happened, as he knows that he was not conscious when he had been brought aboard the ship, but something told him that it was.

He told of his week of recovery, what little he could remember, and Elizabeth's offer for him to sail with her until he could recover his Pearl, and how she sailed to Tortuga on his request to retrieve his first mate.

At last, he fell silent, Gibbs staring, wide-eyed.

Waving his hands vaguely towards Gibbs, Jack added. "Obviously you can clean up the tale a bit, make it all a bit more…"

"Aye, Captain." Gibbs nodded knowingly. It wouldn't do for tales of Jack at his weakest to be known, though, Lord knows, enough of Elizabeth's crew had witnessed it, and would no doubt tell the tale for themselves. No, certainly, it was a tale in need of Gibb's finesse.

"And what now, Jack?"

Jack pouted. "We seek the Pearl. And in the meantime, there is the _Empress_."

"A mutiny?"

"No." Jack snapped, surprising himself with his abruptness. His fingers ran thoughtfully against the compass at his hip. "We bide our time, Gibbs. Elizabeth has promised to help with retrieving the Pearl should we come across it. It's wise to keep her on side."

"And you're happy to serve under her, as one of her crew, in the meantime?" Gibbs asked skeptically. "And just be Jack Sparrow?"

"Ah, now, just because I find meself temporarily displaced of me own ship, doesn't make me less of a Captain, aye?"

Gibbs pondered a moment. "Aye. And… have you still the charts to the," he glanced around to see who may be listening. "Fountain of Youth?" He mouthed.

"Aye. Safe and sound." Jack said, not mentioning that they remained locked in Elizabeth's cabin; a matter he would have to rectify, soon enough. "And soon as we find the Pearl, that'll be our heading. Has there been any word as to its whereabouts?"

Gibbs shrugged, draining his bottle of rum. "Everywhere from the Far East to England. Rumour and gossip follow the Pearl wherever she goes, Jack, you know that."

"And wherever she doesn't, it seems." Jack said sadly.

"And the compass?"

Jack shrugged.

Gibbs looked at him sympathetically.

_Something's got Jack fixed, alright._

༄༄༄

Eventually, a third near-missed shot, this one landing in the wooden beam just above Jack's left shoulder, convinced he and Gibbs to retreat to the _Faithful Bride_ in search of Elizabeth and Anne. Curiously, they found Elizabeth alone, nursing a bottle of rum rather forlornly in the corner of the putrid - though slightly less so than _The_ _Admiral's Girl_ \- tavern.

Sliding into a seat alongside her, Jack nodded for Gibbs to fetch two more bottles of rum.

"All alone, love?" He leered, leaning towards her ear.

She started, reaching momentarily for her pistol before recognition crossed her face.

"Never let your guard down for a moment, love. Especially not in Tortuga."

"Jack." She smiled, relieved at the company.

"Where is your lady companion, love?"

Wryly, Elizabeth nodded towards the bar.

Jack followed her gaze, blanching at the sight.

Anne was speaking rather intimately with none other than Anamaria.

"They've been there for an hour," Elizabeth explained. "Huang went upstairs about ten minutes ago with a woman called Scarlet."

Blanching for a second time, Jack's head snapped back towards her. "Scarlet?"

Elizabeth cocked a brow. "You know her?"

He grimaced. "Didn't think she'd go for the likes of Huang. Her standards are slipping.

"Since you, you mean?" She scoffed. "I daresay Huang's personal hygiene is marginally better than your own."

Now, it was Jack's turn to scoff.

"And what of you, love? No disreputable scoundrels caught your eye?"

She glared at him, recalling their conversation of the previous evening.

_Bonds._

"Mr. Gibbs," Elizabeth brightened as Gibbs returned with three bottles of rum, having judged from her solemn expression that Elizabeth too could do with more rum. "Have you given any thought about a place upon my crew? I trust that Jack will have convinced you?"

"Aye, Miss- Captain Swann." He corrected. "Till we find the Pearl, would be an honour, and I thank yer for yer kindness in coming to Tortuga, on Jack's request."

"A man of the sea such as yourself, Mr. Gibbs, best not be left on land for too long." Elizabeth smiled. "Though I'm curious to know why you stayed behind in Tortuga in the first place? Why did you not sail with Jack - though I dare say, it's best that you didn't."

"Gibbs here has been keeping an ear out for word of the Pearl."

"And any luck?"

Jack shook his head. "All talk, no substance, it seems, love."

"I feared as much." Elizabeth sighed. She glanced down towards the table. "And the compass?"

Jack pouted, suddenly taking great interest in the neck of his rum bottle, tracing the uneven glass with his fingers.

"Why, isn't your compass working?" She pressed, studying his profile as comprehension dawned.

He could practically feel her curious gaze burning into him.

"My compass works fine," Jack said defensively. "Bloody Barbossa is just…" He waved a finger through the air in demonstration. "Zig-zagging me Pearl all over the bloody place. Me compass can't keep up with where she is from one day to the next."

"Well, even if we zig-zag about too, we can follow her." Elizabeth went to grab the compass, and Jack caught her hand.

"Jack! Let go."

"No!"

"We can at least get a heading for where the Pearl is now, and follow her."

"Lizzie! Get off!"

Gibbs watched in astonishment as they tussled for several seconds, before Elizabeth, with a huff of indignation, let go sharply, causing Jack to near fall from his seat, his compass firmly in hand. He stuffed it deep into his coat pocket.

"Fine. If you'd rather just leave it to chance, lest we happen to stumble across the Pearl, do as you please. But don't think that there won't come a point when you best leave my ship before I kill you, Jack."

"Trust me, love, I wouldn't want to overstay me welcome." He snapped.

Several tense moments passed, as Elizabeth and Jack fidgeted uncomfortably, while Gibbs cast an uncomfortable gaze around the room.

As the two captains happened to glance towards the bar, however, they both gasped as Anamaria pulled Anne into a rather ardent looking kiss, the corner of Jack's mouth lifting in a rather wry, cat-like smile at the scene. Catching each other's eye, the tension dissolved as quickly as it had emerged.

"Always wondered about Anamaria." Jack muttered.

"Based on what? Did she reject your advances?"

He looked at her knowingly, and she cocked a brow.

"Oh."

"Jack Sparrow!" A shrill voice called from across the room.

Elizabeth could practically see the blood freeze in Jack's veins as he stiffened, turning slowly towards the sound. As he did so, he cast Elizabeth an almost apologetic glance.

"Well if I never," A tall, blonde, quite pretty woman cried, her hips swaying seductively as she made her way towards the table. "Yer look like yer've bin starvin' yerself." Casting a hungry gaze over Jack's slender body, she perched herself upon his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Elizabeth watched her, not quite sure what to make of the scene. She ignored the heat in her gut, daring not to label it. She was, after all a married woman. And yet, she couldn't help but stare a little too sternly at the blonde stranger, a fire stoking in her eyes, not unnoticed by Gibbs.

"Yer 'aven't bin t' see me in ages, Jack." She cooed, her voice childlike.

"Been busy, Giselle, love." Jack said. Though his voice was as flirtatious as it almost always was - particularly when there was a woman present - he didn't curl into Giselle's lithe form as he usually did, settling on placing a hand upon her waist.

"Well, yer 'ere now." Giselle inched closer, nuzzling his earlobe as her ample cleavage threatened to spill out over the top of her dress. Leaping up, Elizabeth grabbed her bottle of rum.

"Mr. Gibbs," She nodded, "Sparrow. I'll retire for the night."

"Aye, Captain." Gibbs said.

Jack watched her as she retreated to the bar, speaking briefly with Anne, and nodding to Anamaria, before she took her leave, returning to her ship.


End file.
